The Graduate
by GMTH
Summary: Hermione discovers she has a power that allows her to know and experience the events of Snape's past. Angsty stuff awaits both of them as she learns about his life. DISCONTINUED Ignore AN at the bottom of chapter 13.
1. Chapter 1

****

THE GRADUATE

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Usual disclaimers apply. They're not mine, I'm just getting off on putting words in their mouths. 

If you enjoy this, please let me know! 

Chapter 1: Dancing With the Dark

Hermione Granger was the type of woman who typically rolled out of bed, combed her hair with her fingers and headed out the door to her first class. Never one to be particularly interested in her appearance, she rarely looked in the mirror, and when she did it usually resulted in an impatient sigh of criticism at her reflection. Seeing only an unruly mop of mousy brown hair and a slightly uneven smile, she would pull a face and turn away, dismissing the image from her mind as quickly as possible. She had therefore failed to notice the development of her unconventional beauty or the ripening of her body since her first year at Hogwarts, though few around her had made the same mistake. 

But tonight was different. Tonight as she studied herself in the mirror, she was pleased for a change with what she saw. She had been primping for nearly two hours, and now as she gazed upon the nearly finished work, even she had to acknowledge that it had not been in vain. 

Her dress robes were a lustrously rich shade of purple, adorned with a moon-and-stars pattern in shimmering silver threads. She had darkened her hair a few shades and coiled it into a thick French twist at the back of her head, then clipped it in place with a bejeweled barrette. The pile of hair emphasized the long, regal curves of her neck, and she turned her head from side to side to admire its sensual effect in the mirror. Small, glittering stones at her earlobes completed the picture of a princess of olde. The finishing touch was a corsage of tiny red tea roses on a bed of ferns – a gift from her mother – which she pinned to her robes just above her left breast. 

She was ready.

A delicious shiver of delight filled her as she looked at herself. _This is what it feels like to be beautiful,_ she thought, awed at her transformation. It was a heady feeling. She gathered her robes around her, tossed her head one last time to admire the way the light played on her earrings, and turned to leave. 

The atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room was charged with excitement this night. Hogwarts was hosting the first Yule Ball since the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and the halls had been buzzing with anticipation for weeks. This time around, Hermione had decided to go without an escort; as Head Girl, she considered it her responsibility to act as unofficial Hostess of the event, and felt that bringing a date would distract her from that duty. She took it – as she took all of her responsibilities, real and imagined – very seriously.

Heads turned as she stepped into the common room, and she felt a happy thrill in her chest when most of those observing her entrance smiled warmly in her direction. Harry elbowed Ron – who had been exchanging crude jokes with Neville Longbottom – when Hermione entered, and both looked at her open mouthed, as though they had never seen her before. 

"You look fantastic, Hermione!" Harry said enthusiastically as he and Ron crossed the room to greet her.

She smiled modestly, blushing. Her two best friends rarely seemed aware that she was a female, for which she was usually grateful. Now they seemed all too aware of it, and after all the work she had done to prepare herself she was just as grateful to them for noticing. 

"Thanks Harry," she replied. "And don't you look handsome, as well?" 

Harry didn't respond, looking her over from head to toe in an appreciative manner. "You look good enough to eat," he said finally, his still boyishly charming grin firmly in place. She smiled shyly and tapped him on the upper arm, ducking her head in embarrassment at the sincerity of his words. 

"Where's Ginny?" she asked, looking around the room for her absent friend. 

"I don't know," Harry sighed. "I hope she'll be along shortly." Ginny's habitual lateness was the one quality Hermione knew Harry deplored in his girlfriend. A moment later Ginny arrived, out of breath and looking radiant in deep magenta robes, and she and Hermione exchanged compliments.

En masse, the excited group of Gryffindors filed out of the common room and made its way down to the Great Hall. Along the way, they met up with a crowd of Ravenclaws, and Ron offered his arm to Helen St. John, a 6th year girl he had been dating for over a year. 

As the doors to the Great Hall swung open, the group gave a collective sigh of approval. Hundreds of red and green candles floated over their heads, gently suffusing the huge room with their flickering light. The walls were decked with looping garlands of holly heavy with red berries, anchored every six feet with enormous wreaths of fragrant pine branches. But most breathtaking of all was the immense Christmas tree dominating the front half of the room. It reached to the enchanted ceiling and was decorated from top to bottom with hundreds of sparkling gold and silver ornaments. The four long house tables were gone, replaced by many small, round tables covered with rich linens and set with the finest china and silver.

The room was already crowded with students, and more were pouring in. Hermione scanned the room for a table with enough seats for all of them to sit together. "There's one!" she said, finally spotting one near the front of the room.

Ron craned his neck to see where she was pointing. "Of course that one's empty," he snorted. "Who wants to sit that close to Snape?" He jerked his head toward the adjacent table, where Headmaster Dumbledore sat chatting casually with Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Snape. 

Ron, along with most of the students at Hogwarts, loathed Severus Snape. _And with good reason,_ Hermione thought. A strict disciplinarian and owner of an acid tongue, he had made their lives hell for the past seven years, reducing each of them to trembling bundles of nerves at every opportunity. His primary sources of pleasure were snapping sarcastically at the students and deducting house points for the merest infractions, and most of the young witches and wizards had wished him dead on more than one occasion. 

Hermione had as much reason to hate Snape as anyone. He had labeled her a silly know-it-all and busybody from the first day she sat in his classroom, and he rarely failed to crack these epithets over her head like a whip when speaking to her. Yet lately, she found herself looking at Snape in a new light. 

The war with Voldemort had come to a head at the beginning of the term, and Snape had acquitted himself beautifully. When he, Harry and Dumbledore disappeared from Hogwarts just two weeks after classes began, Hermione was beside herself with worry. She and Ron had spent countless hours in the Gryffindor common room speculating about what was going on and whether their friend was still alive or not. The trio was gone for weeks without any news, and everyone feared the worst. The atmosphere in the castle grew still and grim. The students shuffled silently from class to class, heads hung, while the remaining teachers struggled valiantly to maintain the normal routine under the most abnormal circumstances imaginable. 

And then, as suddenly as they had gone, they were back. 

The details of what transpired remained a closely-guarded secret, known only to those involved and a few high-level officials at the Ministry of Magic. Harry, exhausted and disturbed, refused to discuss it with anyone. When pressed, all he would say was that Voldemort was no longer a threat and that Snape had saved both his and Dumbledore's lives. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore volunteered any information about what had happened, and no one was foolish enough to pursue the issue with either of them. 

Life had quickly returned to normal at Hogwarts, the air heavy with relief and joy at the dissipation of the worst of the Dark forces. It soon became evident that regardless of what had happened to him, Snape's attitude toward his classes – and Harry in particular – had not changed a bit, and his reputation as a war hero soon faded in the face of the usual resentment and anger which had always dogged his steps. 

Harry's attitude toward the potions master had changed, however. He seemed to bear Snape's insults with great patience now, and no longer joined in the post-class gripe sessions with the others. Hermione sensed that he had come to some kind of understanding with Snape during their adventure together, and as she trusted her friend's feelings, she began to develop a new respect for the professor as well – albeit a grudging one. 

Ron, however… 

__

Well that's his look out, Hermione thought. _He always has been thick as a brick when it comes to the feelings of those around him._

"It's our only chance if we want to sit together, Ron," Harry said, shattering Hermione's reverie. Ron, shrugging, finally acquiesced. 

The group made its way through the crowd to the empty table, and Hermione sat between Harry and Ron, each flanked by his girlfriend. Neville and Dean Thomas sat opposite her, their backs to the staff table. Between their shoulders, Hermione could see Professor McGonagall smiling warmly in her direction. Her favorite teacher rose halfway and said, "You look lovely tonight, Miss Granger." 

"Thank you, Professor," she smiled. Snape, who was sitting with his back to the crew of Gryffindors, turned at McGonagall's words and raked Hermione with a brief glance, then turned back, his expression unchanged. 

The feast got under way and the group ate happily, laughing and talking as they enjoyed both each other's company and the delicious food. Only Hermione ate sparingly, worried that she might spill something on her new robes. When the meal was over, Dumbledore rose and with a wave of his hand moved all of the tables back against the walls save the one at which the staff was seated. A band of goblins positioned beneath the Christmas tree had been playing dinner music, and they now struck up the slow, beautiful waltz that was the traditional beginning to the dancing. They would later be replaced by a group of wizards who would play the lively music preferred by the younger set attending the ball. 

Hermione decided it was time to begin her work as hostess. She walked about the room, talking to everyone she passed, exchanging a word here, a compliment there. She was encouraging some second-year girls to ask a couple of boys they were interested in to dance when Ron appeared at her elbow.

"Stop embarrassing them," he chided, watching the young girls slink away to a corner as far from the boys in question as possible. 

"Oh sod off, " she replied good naturedly. "It's no big deal."

"Oh yeah?" Ron said. "Then why aren't you doing it?"

"Well, er… I'm not a very good dancer."

"I see. Don't practice what you preach, eh?"

"Fine," she said, rising to his challenge. "You want to dance?"

"Well, no," he said. "I don't know how to dance, either. And besides," he continued quickly, seeing the sarcastic grin forming on Hermione's face, "it will piss Helen off." He looked around the room for a minute and then broke into a wicked smile. "Why not ask Dumbledore?" he suggested.

"Oh please," she dismissed the idea. "Don't be an idiot."

"Why not?" he demanded playfully. "Not scared, are you?" 

"Not a bit," she insisted. "Just watch." And taking a deep breath to fortify her courage, she gently pushed her way through the crowd to the staff table. 

Dumbledore was enjoying his second bowl of custard as she approached. "Excuse me, Headmaster," she said in a high, clear voice that hardly sounded like her own. "Would you care to dance?"

Dumbledore put his spoon down on the table and regarded her over his spectacles, wizened face splitting into a wide grin. "I would be honored, Miss Granger," he said formally. He stood and bowed, then gestured toward the dance floor. The crowd parted as they made their way toward it. 

He was an accomplished dancer and whirled her around the dance floor effortlessly, compensating for her lack of experience by shortening his normally long strides and counting off the steps for her. When the song ended and they returned to the staff table, Professor Black stepped forward and bowed, asking, "May I have the next dance, Miss Granger?" before sweeping her out to the dance floor once more. 

When they had finished their dance, Black deposited her back at the table, and Hermione looked up into the approving smile of Professor McGonagall. Snape stood next to her, a sneer of something close to disgust on his face. She caught his eye as well, and her smile faltered as his expression darkened into a glare. "Don't even think about it, Miss Granger," he snapped.

Hermione was startled by his reaction. Until that moment, the idea of asking Snape to dance had not even crossed her mind. She blinked rapidly and was about to disabuse him of his worries when Dumbledore clapped Snape on the shoulder. "Go on, Severus," he urged, giving him a nudge in Hermione's direction. "She's quite good. You might even enjoy it!"

"I doubt that," Snape replied. 

His attitude grated on Hermione, who had never been one to back down from a fight. Steeling her resolve, she squared her shoulders and said in a loud, clear voice which carried well across the room, "Would you like to dance, Professor Snape?"

Heads turned and Snape found himself in the unenviable position of having every eye in the school upon him. Hermione could almost see the gears in his brain whirring as he tried to decide which would be worse: ignoring her request or being seen dancing with her. She was fairly sure he was about to refuse when a voice called out from the back of the room, "Go ahead, Professor! She won't bite!"

__

Malfoy, that stupid git, Hermione thought as the room erupted into shouts of encouragement. One last look at Dumbledore's encouraging smile and Snape shouldered his way to the dance floor. Hermione followed, smiling broadly until Snape turned and stood waiting for her to join him. His face was dim and she suddenly wondered what she had been feeling so victorious about. The last thing she wanted to do was be that close to him.

Or was it…? 

Snape very properly held out his arms in a ballroom dancing position as the goblins struck up a Chopin waltz. She clasped his upraised left hand with her right and placed her other hand lightly on the small of his back. Holding her at the maximum distance possible for them to still be considered dancing partners, he swung her out on to the floor. 

"Do try not to step on my feet, Miss Granger," he said dryly as the room broke into cheers.

"And you do the same," she retorted without thinking. 

It was uncomfortable at first. Intimidated by her proximity to the former Death Eater and unaccustomed to being the center of attention, she moved gracelessly. Snape's legs were longer than either Dumbledore's or Black's, and she felt as though she had to take two steps to match every one of his. Worse yet, the goblins had apparently picked the longest song in their repertoire, and the dance seemed to go on forever.

After a few minutes, however, she relaxed into the music and unconsciously stepped closer to her partner. She could feel the muscles in his back flexing beneath her hand, and for the first time she became aware of Snape's humanity. He actually was living, breathing flesh under those impenetrable black robes, and from what little of his body she could feel he was lean and muscular as well. He suddenly seemed immensely powerful, though she could tell he was holding that power in check, coiled up tightly around his viscera and ready to spring like a serpent when called upon. It was exciting to be close to such vibrant strength, she realized with a start. Even the scent of him exuded power, a combination of earthy potions ingredients mingled with a hint of darkness and sweet-smelling perspiration. Altogether masculine. She took a deep breath and his essence filled her nostrils, thrilling her. How had she never noticed it before?

__

Stop it, she admonished herself, futilely willing her suddenly mutinous heart rate to slow. It was dangerous to acknowledge Snape this way, ridiculous to modify her opinion of him one iota, especially when one recalled who her best friends were. Still, she realized that being close to him was considerably more pleasant than she had expected it to be. 

She risked a glance at his face. His expression was, as usual, totally unreadable. He was looking over her shoulder with complete disinterest, seemingly only marking time until the song ended so he could dump her unceremoniously and attend to Malfoy for his part in this public humiliation. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but his apathy bothered her far more than overt anger would have. A small dart of disappointment tugged at her.

At that moment, he looked down at her, a cold smirk forming on his lips. Her heart skipped a beat when they made eye contact and, flustered, she stepped on the hem of her robe. It snapped taut against her leg as she moved the opposite foot, and she stumbled forward.

Instinctively, Snape wrapped his arms around her to steady her, and she found her face pressed hard against his chest. In that instant, she could feel the hammering of his heart against her cheek. It seemed to be running like a freight train, and his shallow breathing echoed hollowly in her ear. Here his heady scent was almost overwhelming, and she stayed in his embrace longer than was strictly necessary, strangely content.

"Miss Granger," his voice vibrated through his torso, "are you quite all right?" When she nodded, he said, "Then would you kindly stop making a spectacle of yourself?" 

She pulled back, blushing, and murmured an apology, suddenly aware of a group of snickering Slytherins standing nearby. Snape turned on his heel and stalked off the dance floor as Hermione kneeled to retrieve one of the tea roses that had fallen from her corsage as a result of their impact. 

When she straightened, Dumbledore appeared at her side and lightly plucked the wilting flower from her fingers. "Ten points to Gryffindor for extreme bravery in the face of adversity!" he proclaimed, holding the rose above his head. The hall erupted into good natured hoots and catcalls. Dumbledore winked at her and returned to the staff table, still clutching the rose. He placed it on the table in front of his place and bent to say something in Snape's ear.

Hermione looked tentatively in the potion master's direction, but his back was to her now. Her chest contracted in another brief spasm of disappointment, but she had no time to reflect on it before she was surrounded by her friends.

"Ugh!" Ron cried. "You poor thing!"

"You OK?" Harry asked.

"Of course!" she said, covering her turbulent feelings with a short laugh. "It's not as if he used the Cruciatus on me or anything. We just danced."

"Ugh!" said Ron again while Ginny gave an exaggerated shiver. 

"He was actually quite good," Hermione said, tossing her head a bit so her earrings glittered in the half light. She could still catch a hint of Snape's scent on her robes and her face felt flushed. She was grateful the lights were low. 

The rest of the ball passed uneventfully. Uninterested in playing hostess any longer, Hermione spent the remainder of the evening talking with her friends. But she was unable to stop herself from glancing in Snape's direction from time to time, hoping to catch his eye and get some confirmation of what she was sure she'd sensed in his body on the dance floor. But long before the ball was scheduled to end, she saw him slip out of the Great Hall by way of a back passage. 

She lay in her bed that night, turning the evening's events over in her head. She was both confused and excited at the sudden shift in her emotions and lay awake for a long time trying to talk herself out of the way she felt. But she couldn't deny the fact that her body was buzzing with some ill-defined longing at the thought of the repressed dynamo in whose arms she had spent part of the evening. She imagined that she could sense his presence even though he was half a castle away, as though some sort of conduit had opened between them so his strength could flow to her unchecked. It was a strangely pleasant sensation, this feeling that he was still present with her. 

__

Mum always says power is an aphrodisiac, she thought, allowing her hands to roam over her body, her mind and fingers working together to quench the thirst that had been unwittingly induced by the touch of the potion master's hands. 

****

Deep below the ground in his dungeon chambers, Severus Snape sat silently, watching the flames dance in his fireplace grate. In his present state of mind their writhing seemed both dangerous and erotic, as though they were snapping beasts caught in some kind of a lethal courtship ritual. He stared into the very heart of the orange-hot gyrations until it felt as though his eyes were also on fire, thinking hard. 

__

Yes, thinking, always thinking. Never doing. 

It was better that way. He had always been a vigilant man, jealously guarding his emotions lest they be perverted and used against him, and even with the final passage of the danger which had caused him to be so he found it a hard habit to change. _Keep your distance. Build that wall and do not, under any circumstances, let anyone scale it._

Must it always be so? 

He sighed and turned his face from the fire, though persistence of vision meant he could still see it undulating in ghostly green shadows as he focused on the stone wall of his quarters. His hand moved toward a thick book sitting on the table next to him. It was a dog-eared copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions,_ and he considered it the closest thing to the Muggle Bible a potions master could have. Slowly he opened the book to the center and ran his fingers down the columns of familiar words. Then he reached into the pocket of his robes and removed the small, fragrant object, placing it in the middle of the page and closing the book gently on its red petals. 

A/N: Thanks to Quillusion for the technical information about ballroom dancing. I know that strictly speaking Hermione shouldn't have her hand on the small of Snape's back if they are dancing correctly, but I really liked the idea of her touching him that way so I took a few liberties.


	2. Chapter 2

See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Every Way You Look at This, You Lose

It was unseasonably warm that spring, and by mid-May the grounds surrounding Hogwarts were already showing signs of the verdancy to come. The rains soaked deep into the earth and released a moist, fresh scent that penetrated even to the usually dank smelling dungeons. It seemed to revitalize everyone in the castle – steps were livelier, voices louder, Quidditch matches even more exciting than usual. Spring Fever hit the students with a vengeance, making classes a particularly exasperating affair for many of the teachers. Most afternoons found Professor McGonagall walking the corridors with her lips sternly pursed, trying in vain to rein in acts of mischief from students too filled with the adrenaline of being released from the long winter to bother worrying about the rules. Even the normally unflappable Professor Flitwick had taken points from two Hufflepuffs after they invoked a speech charm which caused Stewart Ackerly to curse fluently in Italian for over ten minutes. The only teacher who had no hijinks in his classroom was Snape. He made it abundantly clear what would happen to any student causing trouble in his dungeons, and they knew he meant what he said. 

Spring had always been Hermione's favorite time of year, and she found herself spending most of her free moments sitting by her open dormitory window, drinking in the smell of the new growth. She could almost sense the yearning of the plants lying just beneath the surface of the ground as they waited for the moment when they could poke their heads above the surface and unfurl their leaves toward the sun. _So much promise in the air, _she thought. S_o many possibilities. The yield for the rest of year depends on what happens in these few, short months. _She marveled at how that paralleled her own life, knowing that the seeds she was planting now would be ready to reap in her later years. 

She felt lucky in that it looked as though her life's garden would be healthy and strong. Her education at Hogwarts had been excellent, and she was seriously considering Professor McGonagall's offer to stay on at the school after graduation to become an apprentice Tranfiguration instructor. She had developed friendships that she knew would last the rest of her life. And her family… well, her family could not really be considered just a plant. No, a plant was too fragile, too transient. It was more like a giant redwood tree. Her parents had been both supportive and proud of her magical studies, and she knew it would always be so. 

The only flower that seemed doomed to die on the vine was her love life. In fact, strictly speaking she could not even consider that one to be planted yet. _Whoever said spring makes a young man's fancy turn to thoughts of love was right,_ she decided, _though in this case it's a young woman's fancy. _She sighed. It was getting old, this being alone, especially when confronted with Ron's and Harry's happy romances on a daily basis. Well, there was little to be done about it. There was no one at Hogwarts she considered even remotely interesting enough to get involved with. 

No, strike that, she amended. There _was_ one person, but that was a flat out impossibility. 

Or was it…? 

Snape had taken up residence in the back of her mind ever since the night they had danced together at the Yule Ball. Though not a woman usually given over to flights of fancy, she often thought about what it would be like to be that close to him again, to step back into his sphere of mastery and be consumed by his power. He could still be as nasty as a nundu with halitosis, and although there were times she hated the things he did and said she had to admit that being around him was never dull. His words often seemed to sizzle through the air, jolting her like an electric current and turning her knees weak with both anger and craving. She felt incredibly carnal after each of his classes, rarely failing to incite herself to orgasm on the days when his temper was at its worst. 

She kept her feelings to herself, knowing that sharing them would make her the object of ridicule – and quite probably scorn – among her peers. She was thankful that no one around her noticed the way her eyes grew brighter, her gaze more intense whenever Snape was around. No sense in tipping her hand. Still, she couldn't help feeling that it would be nice if _someone_ knew her well enough to see the evidence for themselves. 

Enough, she chastised herself. _I need to get out of here, get some air and stop thinking so much._ Yes, a walk in the fresh air would be bracing. But not in her robes – they suddenly felt very oppressive and she wanted to feel the breeze on her skin. She shed them quickly and changed into a light spring shift, instead. One glance in the common room on her way out told her that Harry and Ron were still at Quidditch practice, though how they could still see the balls now that the sun had almost set was a mystery to her. _Good, at least I'll get some time to myself,_ she thought, not entirely without guilt, as she skipped down the steps and slipped out the front door of the castle. 

The sunset was breathtaking. The sky was streaked with brilliant streams of pink and purple reflecting off some low-lying clouds and making the lake shimmer like a tapestry. The breeze felt glorious on her bare arms and she bent to remove her sandals, luxuriating in the feel of the moist earth beneath her feet. She stopped to dip her toes in the lake, watching with amusement as the giant squid uncoiled one shadowy tentacle above the surface of the water as if in protest at the disturbance in its environment. She wandered the grounds for a long time, using the light from her wand to guide her when it grew too dark to see. It was a lovely walk, but it did not have its intended effect of clearing her mind of thoughts of Snape; to the converse, being out here as earth was undergoing its annual rebirth filled her with an even stronger sense of melancholy yearning. 

Finally, she realized it must be getting close to lights out and she should be on her way back. As she trudged up the path, a cool drop of rain fell on her face, then another. In her pensive frame of mind, she had failed to notice the gathering clouds. She quickened her pace as the shower gathered strength, but it was too late. The sky burst open and she was soon soaked to the skin. 

A flash of lightning in the distance startled her and she realized it would soon be unsafe to be walking about. The greenhouses were just ahead and she darted toward them, deciding it would be best to wait inside until the storm passed. She would definitely be late getting back now but it couldn't be helped. She grimaced at the thought of her housemates' reactions when she lost the 20 or so points McGonagall was sure to deduct for walking around the castle after curfew.

Thunder was rumbling overhead when she yanked the greenhouse door open and ducked inside, slamming it behind her. The torches were lit in order to keep the plants warm, and she sighed in frustration as she looked down and saw the mud-splattered condition of her clothes. She stood shaking her arms in a futile attempt to dry them when she heard a voice saying, "Professor Sprout, is that you?" A shadowy form rounded the corner leading to the back of the greenhouse where the more exotic plants were kept away from destructive hands of the students. 

Snape. 

"I've come by to collect the yohimbe we discu—" He caught sight of her and stopped in mid-sentence upon the realization that it wasn't the Herbology professor that had invaded the greenhouse. "Miss Granger," he said coldly, "would you mind telling me precisely why you are outside the castle?"

"I went for a walk, sir," she replied softly, "and the storm came up before I could get back inside."

"I see," he said. "You realize, of course, that this is a restricted area. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"Yes, Professor," she replied listlessly. But the tone was an affectation. She had rarely felt less listless in her life. It was the only time she could ever recall being alone with him, and her pulse began to thrum with the excitement of it. She felt as though the tendrils of his power were already enveloping her, filling her senses and invading every pore of her body. The effect was unsettling. Unbidden, she felt a rush of moisture between her legs. "I had no choice, sir," she continued as another lightning bolt hissed across the sky. The storm was almost directly overhead. "It was too unsafe to be out walking about in this weather."

"Quite," he responded crossly, as though he suddenly realized that they were trapped there together until the storm passed. He folded his arms across his chest and looked her up and down. "You're dripping, Miss Granger. Pity you did not have the sense to wear your robes when venturing outside. You'll catch your death, soaked to the bone like that."

Belatedly, she drew her wand used a drying charm to evaporate the moisture from her skin. "I'll be fine, Professor," she responded, waving the wand about her head to straighten her hair. "I enjoy walking in the rain, and anyway, my mum owled me a bottle of Echinacea last week. I'll take a few when I get back to my room, that will set me right."

Snape snorted. "Echinacea? In pill form? How very Muggle of you."

She stiffened, wondering if she would ever learn to take insults about her Muggle heritage in stride. She had hoped that the war would put a stop to the bigotry – after all, the worst Dark wizard of their time had been stopped by the son of a Mudblood witch – but if anything, it seemed the problem had gotten worse. "I see no reason to stop doing things that have been proven successful simply because they are Muggle ways," she said firmly. 

"How commonplace you've become," he sneered. He swooped in closer to her, bending over her in an obvious effort to intimidate. She was forced to lift her head to see his face. "You'd better learn quickly, girl, that you have to make a choice: either follow the wizarding ways completely, or forsake your magical abilities and return to life among the Muggles. The two worlds cannot co-exist, Miss Granger, and until you make that choice, you will never find your place in either community. Am I making myself clear?"

She nodded wordlessly but she had barely heard a word of his speech, so overwhelmed was she by his proximity.

"Now, I would suggest," he continued, "that you forget this ridiculous notion of taking pills and see Madame Pomfrey for an anti-viral potion if you experience any signs of illness. My second-year class brewed a batch of it several days ago – if you're lucky, it won't poison you too badly." 

She studied the way his mouth moved when he spoke, imagining what it might feel like on her face, her neck. He stopped speaking, suddenly aware of the change in the atmosphere between them. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you Miss Granger?" he asked flatly. 

"Yes, I have," she protested weakly. "You think I should choose the wizarding way and forget about all things Muggle. It's not something I'm ready to do, not just yet. There are many things about the Muggle way of life that are wonderful, Professor."

He sighed irritably. "I will never understand Muggle-borns and their stubbornness when it comes to these matters," he snapped. "How a woman of your obvious intelligence could make such a foolish statement or even consider the foolhardiness of choosing the Muggle lifestyle is beyond me." 

"Do you mean that, Professor?" she asked quietly, fighting an impulse to put her hand on his chest. It somehow seemed to be both the best and worst thing she could do at that moment. 

"Yes," he said. "Thankfully, we have no such issues in Slytherin, as no student with Muggle blood has been sorted into my house for over 20 years."

"No, not that part," she replied. "I mean the part about my 'obvious intelligence.'" 

He sighed again, if possible even more irritably than the first time. "This is why I don't compliment women anymore," he muttered, almost to himself. "I've yet to meet a woman who didn't take even the slightest, most innocent positive comment much too seriously." 

He started to turn away, but Hermione couldn't bear the idea of breaking the spell that seemed to be binding them together. She reached out and grasped the sleeve of his robe in her fist, pulling him back toward her. He stopped abruptly, holding his ground, not allowing her to force him back but not trying to move away, either. 

She took a step toward him, happily surprised that he had not tried to shake off her hand. She stood quietly, looking up into his face, willing him to kiss her so she would not have to make the first move. It seemed so natural to be here with him that way, so right.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly, "you're trying to seduce me." There was no emotion in his voice at all. 

"Yes, Professor," she breathed, relieved that it was finally out in the open. "I suppose I am." She stepped toward him again and lifted her head so that their faces were close together. When he still did not try to move away, she pressed her head forward until she was so near him that she could feel his exhalations of breath on her face. Their lips were mere centimeters apart now, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of the impending contact. 

"You're a bigger fool than even I thought possible, Miss Granger," Snape said in a dangerously low tone of voice, "if you believe for even one moment that I'm going to jeopardize my position here by dallying with a student." 

She stopped abruptly, lips still in mid-pucker. Her eyes flew open and she breathed in sharply, then she stepped back and turned away. It was as though he had punched her in the solar plexus. He stood regarding her silently as she stumbled toward the greenhouse door and yanked it open, running out into the storm and leaving the door to blow wildly back and forth on its hinges.

She ran across the field toward the castle without regard to the lightning flashing overhead. _I hope it strikes me dead_, she thought, her humiliation complete. Too mortified and angry to cry, she let the raindrops be her tears. All she wanted to do was get back into her room and crawl into bed with the covers over her head and never emerge again. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have thought a man like Snape would ever want to be involved with any student, much less a Mudblood like herself? 

How could she ever face him again? 

****

He stood in the doorway, watching her run off through the rain until he lost sight of her. Then he closed the door slowly and stood holding the doorknob, head bowed . Resisting her was one of the hardest things he had ever done, and he wasn't sure if he should be happy or distraught that he had succeeded. 

The sight of her standing in the warm torchlight with the water streaming from her hair was not one he was likely to forget any time soon. Her wet dress had clung to her like a second skin, outlining the swelling of her breasts and the tantalizing shape of her nipples, erect in response to the cool dampness. The achingly sensual curve of her hips had been revealed, as well. She had been the very picture of provocative innocence, and he doubted very much whether any other man alive would have been able to stop himself from ravishing her if he had been in Snape's position. 

He shook his head. No, he'd done what he had to do. Better for him to look back on the incident with regret at some time in the future than for her to do so. She might be embarrassed now, but it was better that way – she had no idea how close she had come to poisoning the roots of her life before they had even fully taken hold of the soil. 

No danger of that happening now. The matter was put to rest. 


	3. Chapter 3

See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 3: Get Me The Butter

The train emitted a long, high-pitched whistle as it rounded the curve on its way to London, drowning out the chorus of voices shouting goodbyes. Hermione stood on the edge of the platform watching it speed away until only the echo of the whistle and a thinning plume of steam rising on the horizon remained to mark its passage. Moments prior, she had been running alongside the last car, grasping Harry's and Ginny's hands through the open window until the train cleared the end of the platform and she was forced to let go. She teetered for a moment on the very edge of the platform, both arms raised above her head to wave farewell to her friends one last time. 

Hogsmeade station had been so alive earlier, so raucous with the students milling about laughing and calling out to each other. Now it was terribly quiet. The only sound that reached her ears was the wind rustling around the edges of a large banner wishing the Hogwarts Class of '98 the best of luck. 

Her eyes prickled with unshed tears at her friends' departure. It wasn't just that she would miss them – she would, after all, be seeing them all again in a few weeks, as she had been invited to spend some time at the Burrow in August. Instead, she was saddened that it was the end of their time together at Hogwarts. No matter where their lives took them or how often they saw each other in the coming years, they would never be students again. They would never be _children_ again. 

Not that Harry had ever really had a chance to be a child, growing up in that house of horrors and then facing the kinds of challenges that even Dumbledore was ill-prepared to tackle, all before the age of 18. And as one of his closest friends, Hermione had also been dragged into precocious maturity, though she suspected it meant less to her to shed the trappings of childhood than it did to Harry. Still, it was frightening to be right on the cusp of adulthood like this. On the one hand, she was eager to reach out and grab the future, to beat it into submission if she had to in order to make what she wanted out of it. Yet she still sometimes felt like the fearful little girl she had been just seven short years ago, the one who overshadowed everyone with her intelligence and overcompensated for her Muggle blood by trying to out-wizard every student in the school. Thankfully, she no longer had anything to prove. Time, hard work and her innate magical abilities had seen to that. 

She was now the newest staff member at Hogwarts, having decided to accept the position of apprentice Transfiguration instructor. Professor McGonagall – _Minerva,_ she corrected herself – had made the announcement to the school that morning at breakfast, and the news had been met with congratulatory cheers from three of the four long tables. At the meal's conclusion, each of the teachers stopped at the Gryffindor table to tell her how pleased they were to have her join the staff… with one notable exception. 

Snape was not present in the Great Hall that morning, for which Hermione was truly grateful.

The memory of their encounter in the greenhouse still made her face burn hot with shame whenever she thought about it, which was far more frequently than she would have liked. How could she help it? She still sat in his classroom once a week, still saw him two or three times a day at meals. His very presence was a constant reminder of her humiliation, and she avoided him as much as possible. She had not said a single word in his class since that rainy night, had not even looked at him when he lectured, and he ignored her as assiduously as she ignored him. Concern over the issue almost caused her to turn Professor McGonagall's offer down, but after giving the matter careful thought she decided it would be foolish to waste the opportunity. She could only wonder what his reaction to the news had been. 

The breeze shifted and she got a tantalizing whiff of the fresh fudge being made at Honeyduke's. Her stomach rumbling in response, she decided to head to The Three Broomsticks for lunch before heading into town to do some shopping.

The inside of The Three Broomsticks was dark in comparison to the bright afternoon sun, and Hermione saw nothing but shadows until her eyes adjusted. "Hello, love!" Rosmerta greeted her warmly as she perched on one of the high stools at the bar. "Fancy seeing you here! I thought you'd've left on the train with all that lot this afternoon."

"No, not yet. I'll be staying here for a few more weeks and then taking some time off to visit friends before the beginning of next term." She ordered a butterbeer and a bowl of chicken soup. 

Rosmerta's eyebrow jerked upwards. "Next term? And here I thought you was one of the graduates this year."

"Oh, I was. I mean, I am. I'm not going to be here as a student, I'm on staff now." She straightened proudly and smiled as Rosmerta plunked a mug down on the bar in front of her. 

"Ahh, that's wonderful, love!" Rosmerta said. "How exciting for you!" She clucked her tongue wistfully, expression growing nostalgic. "Seems like only yesterday you was in here for the first time. You and the youngest Weasley boy. They way he looked at you… well, it did me heart good, it did."

Deciding it would be best notto respond to _that _comment, Hermione applied herself to blowing the steam from the bowl of soup Rosmerta set before her, instead. 

"Anyway," the older woman continued, leaning in conspiratorially, "I don't envy you having to be on staff with _that _one." She nodded toward a booth in the back corner of the room. "He's in an awful mood today. Even worse than usual, if you can believe that. Don't think he's feeling quite up to snuff."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder in the direction Rosmerta had indicated, then turned back quickly, instantly on full red alert. Snape was seated alone at the table, facing the back wall. _How did I miss seeing him there?_ she thought despairingly. 

"Does he come in here often?" she asked Rosmerta quietly.

"Oh yeah, always has done," Rosmerta replied. "Used to come in here as a student, you know, and at least once a weekend since he came back on staff. There's another one I've watched grow up – and grow old before his time." 

"I think I'd better get out of here," Hermione said, taking a final swallow of her butterbeer. "I don't want to talk to him right now."

"Oh?" Rosmerta's eyebrow lurched skyward again, intrigued as always by any hint of gossip. Hermione looked up at her, broadcasting her feelings with her eyes. "Oh," Rosmerta said again, nodding understandingly as the situation became clear. "Well, that's your business, I suppose. But whatever your problems are, you'd better get them worked out quickly if you're both going to be on staff."

"You're right, I'm sure," Hermione affirmed, slipping off the bar stool. "But there's plenty of time for that. Trust me… now's not the right time." 

"You know best love," Rosmerta sighed, scooping up the sickels Hermione dropped on the bar. "Just so long as you realize that the longer you leave it, the harder it will be." 

Hermione was halfway to the door by then, hoping Snape had not seen her. But as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she realized Rosmerta was right – if she was to function effectively on the staff she was going to have to have a good working relationship with the other teachers. And this situation definitely wasn't going to get any easier with the passage of time. 

Look at it as another step on the path toward adulthood, she mused, turning away from the door and steeling her resolve. It was time to start building bridges again. But it was going to be difficult. It was a foregone conclusion that he would not be happy to see her.

Or was it…?

A meager meal sat on the table before him, nothing more than a bowl of stew, a buttered roll and a sweating tankard of ale. But the food had been pushed aside in favor of the large book that was open next to his plate. She recognized it immediately as the copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions_ that he carried with him everywhere he went. At first glance he seemed to be studying the book very closely, his face dipped so low over the pages that his hair hung straight down across his forehead. But as she got closer she realized his head was at the wrong angle for him to be reading the book. It was almost as though he had hung his head and fallen asleep.

To her surprise, he did not look up as she approached. She had never seen him so unaware of his surroundings. "Professor?" she ventured softly. 

His head snapped up, the sudden movement causing his hair to tumble across his face and completely obscure one eye. He regarded her coldly, his face pale. 

"Go away," he hissed.

Her heart was pounding and she found she could not obey his order. Something was definitely wrong with him. It wasn't his usual brand of anger, either – she'd seen him angry enough times to recognize the emotion in him. Whatever was going on, it was bigger than the brush-off she'd had at his hand in the greenhouse. 

Ignoring his remark, she slid in the booth next to him. "What is it?" she pressed.

He tossed his head a bit to clear the hair out of his eyes, to no avail. "Miss Granger, I'm in no mood to deal with you right now. I've neither the time nor the energy for – " He broke off abruptly and drew in a sharp breath, wincing. 

She suddenly noticed that he was cradling his left arm in his lap. "You're in pain!" she exclaimed softly as the realization hit her. 

"Just leave me alone," he croaked as the spasm passed from his face. 

"Is it… is it your Mark?" she asked timidly as he turned his body away from her and huddled down deeper in his seat. "I thought that once He-Who… once Voldemort was defeated that would all be over."

"Voldemort is – was – an incredibly powerful Dark wizard, Miss Granger. Magic that potent doesn't simply disappear overnight." He winced again, rubbing the spot gingerly. "It may be some time before the Mark stops responding to it. My only consolation in this matter is that Lucius Malfoy is no doubt also suffering greatly at this very moment." 

"Does it hurt all the time?" 

"No. The pain comes and goes. The occurrences were far more frequent directly after the Dark Lord's defeat." 

"Can I help?" she asked, reaching for him. 

He shook his head wearily, but allowed her to take hold of his arm and pull it up into the light. Gently, she peeled back the sleeve to reveal the Mark. It looked nothing like what she had expected. The dark outline was so faded now that it was hard to tell where the skull ended and the serpent-like tongue began. It resembled angry-looking white scar tissue standing out in bold relief against the red, puffy skin surrounding it, a white tattoo embedded in a large first-degree burn. His forearm was swollen from the base of his hand to just short of the elbow, and as she watched she could see his pulse twitching at the wrist. 

"Have you taken anything for it?" she asked, cupping her hand over his arm so the Mark was covered. It disturbed her to look at it, to imagine the things he might have done under its influence. She could feel the heat from the area radiating into her palm. 

"Of course," he replied. "I've tried all of the pain relief potions. They only help temporarily."

"Well, there is one thing my mum always swears by for burns," she said, reaching for the small dish of butter on the table. She pushed his book closer to the edge of the table in order to make room for the dish in front of her. 

"How many times must I tell you, Miss Granger," he sneered, trying to jerk his arm out of her grip, "I am not interested in any of your ridiculous Muggle cures." 

Ignoring him, she muttered a brief warming charm over the butter to soften it, then scooped up a generous blob on her index finger. Tightening her grip on his wrist, she pulled his arm toward her and began carefully applying the butter to the red area. Bending low over her work, she smeared the greasy substance all around the Mark with feathery-light touches, unable to take her eyes from it and yet also unable to touch it. His skin was so hot she was surprised the butter did not melt on contact. 

He grew very still and quiet under her ministrations. "Am I hurting you?" she asked, looking up at him. He shook his head wordlessly, lips parted slightly as if in surprise that she would do this for him. She noted the expression without comment and bent her head back to her task. 

Eventually, she ran out of surrounding skin and, taking another scoop of butter, skimmed her fingertips directly over the Mark itself. This area was the most sensitive on his arm and he stiffened when she grazed it, his muscles contracting of their own volition beneath her touch. This writhing of his flesh made the Mark seem to come alive, and for a moment she gazed at the uncoiling viper slithering up his forearm in frank horror. 

As she traced the white scars that formed the outline of the Mark, she was suddenly overcome with an impression of Darkness. It was – thankfully – terribly brief but it was also terribly strong. Flashes of hatred, fear, torture and pain, images of death and Dark magic so strong it could not be resisted. Snippets of harsh voices upraised in anger, keening in despair, groaning with enraged helplessness. And wrapped around it all were poisonous pangs of self-loathing and an aching desire for redemption. It swept over and around her like a cyclone, robbing her of her breath – and then it was gone. 

This then… this is what made him the person he was. This was the power she had sensed in him that night at the Yule Ball and then again in the greenhouse. No wonder he was so vigilant about keeping it in check. What he must have endured… she could only imagine the tiniest bit of it. A wave of compassion and concern filled her, and she could not prevent herself from drawing his wrist to her lips. She pressed her lips gently to his pulse point, offering comfort and understanding in the only way she knew how. 

"Enough," he said hoarsely, yanking his arm away. "I know what you're thinking, Miss Granger, and I do not want – or need – your pity." He stood quickly, bumping the table with his hip as he rose. The jarring upset his book, and it fell to the floor face down. Their heads nearly collided as they simultaneously leaned over to retrieve it, but he reached it first and pulled the book back onto the table by its spine.

He was about to make a biting final comment on the matter before storming off when he noticed she was still staring at the spot where the book had fallen. Open-mouthed, she slowly leaned over to pick a small, papery-looking object up off the floor. He stifled a gasp when the realization struck him as to what she now clutched in her hand.

"Is this my rose?" she whispered in a stunned voice, holding it up. 

He turned his head away, refusing to respond. 

She stood up and moved in front of him so he could not avoid her gaze. "You kept it all this time? I don't understand." 

But she did understand. She recalled the feel of his heart racing against her cheek as they danced, sensed again the change in his breathing when she fell against him. It had not, as she had told herself countless times since that night, been only her imagination. She held the confirmation of that fact in her hand. 

"Why did you say those things to me in the greenhouse?" she demanded when he still did not reply. "Why did you tell me you would never consider being with me in that way?" She bit back tears at the thought of it, of how unnecessary it had been.

"I'm a monster, Hermione," he said simply, his voice raw, and a detached part of her brain thrilled to hear him use her given name for the first time. "You sensed that yourself a moment ago. How could I allow a student – a child – to risk being corrupted by what I am?"

She studied his face for a moment, uncertain of how to respond. Then she reached out tentatively and tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear. "As of this morning, I'm no longer a student…." she replied softly, tangling her fingers in the silky tresses. 

He grasped her wrist and held it tightly as she brought her other hand up to touch his cheek. Cradling his head in both hands, she stepped forward just as he brought his face down to hers, and their lips met. 

Finally. 

Unfinished business, she thought, relaxing gratefully into the kiss. Her breathing quickened as he pressed his mouth against hers more firmly, his other hand coming to rest on the back of her head. They kissed for a long time, exploring the taste of one another gently at first, then with greater urgency. It felt so right, so… fulfilling to be with him like this, and she realized he had been wise to put this off until such time as they were both fully prepared for it. 

Tingling from head to foot, she had a sudden urge to curve her body into his so she could feel him along her entire length, but at the same moment they both remembered that they were in the middle of a public place. Regretfully, she broke the enticing contact and stepped back. 

"Come back to Hogwarts with me," she whispered urgently, sliding her hands down to his shoulders. 

"No. Here," he replied in a husky voice. "I have a room upstairs – my refuge from the school. I don't want to give you time to change your mind."

She nodded wordlessly. And taking her hand, he led her up the stairs.   
  
  
  
  
A/N: Yes, yes... I know... you're not supposed to put butter on a burn. Please don't do it. The reason it's in here is this story originally started out as a response to the Seducing Severus Snape writing challenge on the WIKTT mailing list, and one of the conditions of the challenge was Hermione must use some type of food product during the seduction process. Hence, the butter. Not a major point, but I've had a couple of emails and reviews from folks who were disturbed by it, so I figured I'd better explain why I included it in the first place.   
  
Thanks for reading! 


	4. Chapter 4

__

See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 4

He was not a gentle lover. 

It was not really a surprise. Part of her realized she had not expected him to be, knowing instinctively that even in this, the most intimate act one could share with another, he would be as harsh and domineering as he was while standing in front of his classroom. It was his way, she had known that for seven years now. Yet, another part of her was disappointed that her first time had been so mechanical, so unlike the deeply passionate experience she had always hoped it would be.

Her stomach fluttered with a swarm of butterflies as they reached the top of the stairs. The room Snape led her into was small and modestly furnished, boasting only a bed, a bookcase and a few armchairs. One corner was dominated by a desk made of dark wood, which sat facing the window overlooking the village. She could see the spires of Hogwarts glowing eerily on the horizon as the sun prepared to set behind them. Another of the walls was taken up by a large hearth holding a few pieces of charred firewood. The air was permeated with his unique scent, and even if she hadn't known the room was his she would have been able to tell it was a place he considered home by the way he possessed it. 

She stood uncertainly in the doorway as he brushed past her, waving the door shut with a muttered charm. Carelessly he swept off his outer robes, tossing them over a high-backed chair as he passed it. Beneath, he wore only black trousers and a white shirt bearing ruffles at the neck and cuffs of each sleeve. 

"Come," he said quietly, extending one hand toward her. 

She approached him tentatively, removing her outer robes and laying them on his as she passed the chair, their garments joined before they were. When she was within reach he pulled her against his chest, wrapping one arm around her and burying the other hand in her hair. Then he kissed her – a hard, wild kiss, devoid of affection, so unlike the gentle embrace they had shared earlier. The decision now made he acted without hesitation, just as he did in all aspects of his life. His lips and tongue were hard against hers and she gave herself up to them, turning control of the situation over to him with the certain knowledge that if she hadn't, he would have taken it anyway. 

It felt good – exquisite even – to feel his fingers and lips strong and purposeful on her body. How much more intense it was to be caressed by another than it was to do it herself! And he obviously knew what he was doing, knew all the right places to explore and to tease and to taste. But he also seemed in a great hurry to have the act completed, driven, she supposed, by needs which had gone too long unsatisfied. Her body was prepared to accept him long before her mind was. Physically aroused by the rough handling and the fiery gleam in his eye, she reeled mentally at how fast everything was happening.

With few preliminaries he undressed her and threw back the bedcovers, gazing at her in frank appreciation as she reclined against the down pillows. His bold appraisal unnerved her, and she fought the urge to pull the sheets over herself as he slithered out of his clothes. She had little time to observe his unfettered form before he sank down next to her on the bed, murmuring something she could not understand. 

Almost immediately he rolled on top of her, bracing himself on his hands as he pushed her thighs apart with his knee. She could feel his erection rubbing against the damp curls between her legs, and she gripped his shoulders, simultaneously trying to draw him nearer and push him away. He drove his hips forward and entered her forcefully, battering against the proof her virginity.

Encountering it seemed to bring him back to his senses for a moment, and he looked down at her incredulously. "Gods, Hermione, are you –" 

"Not for long," she replied, cutting him off in mid-sentence. Their eyes locked and she nodded, muscles tensing in anticipation. 

And then he was pushing forward again, stabbing through the barrier to embed himself within her. 

She gasped at the sudden sharp pain, arching beneath him in an attempt to reject his invading flesh. But the pain was quickly forgotten as he began to move atop her, displaced by a small spark of pleasure that grew more delicious with each thrust. Soon she was raising her pelvis up to his, their bodies meeting over and over again with muted _thwacks._

Just as she had discovered the best way to position her hips in order to maximize the delectable friction, Snape's breaths changed from shallow panting to throaty grunts and finally to an agonized groan. He ground against her, muscles twitching as his erection pulsed between her legs. She watched his face contort in the combined pleasure and pain of his orgasm, fascinated at the change in his features yet dismayed that it was over almost before it had begun. 

And then he withdrew, flopping down on the bed next to her and fighting to catch his breath. She was left empty and unfulfilled, the juncture between her legs aching with the physical pain of lost innocence and the frustration of being denied completion. 

Snape now lay asleep beside her, his tangled hair a dark contrast to the white pillowcase on which it rested. She didn't have enough experience with men to know that they had been falling asleep on their women after sex since the beginning of time, and so she could not help but take it personally that he had dropped off almost immediately after hitting the mattress. 

__

How disappointing, she thought, studying his profile in the fading light. _Is this all there is to sex?_

What was all the fuss about? Why had Lavender and Parvati giggled about it endlessly in their dorm room for three years until Hermione's nerves were at the breaking point? What had Ron and Harry found so fascinating that they would even give up discussing Quidditch to talk about it in the most graphic terms imaginable?

__

It must be different for men, she thought ruefully, contracting her thighs around the sticky remains of his climax. _I just don't get it. _

Still, she had to admit that it had been intoxicating to be so close to him. Tiny streams of the power she coveted had flowed between them as he moved above her and it was thrilling, though she could tell that even in this most unguarded of moments he had kept it under tight rein. She wondered if they would ever reach a point where he dropped that control and let it course over and through her, filling her mind as his flesh filled her body. 

Because she knew that regardless of how disappointing this experience had been, she wanted more. 

He shifted in his sleep, rolling on to his side toward her, seeking her warmth as his eyes twitched beneath their lids. She hoped his dream was a pleasant one. If what she'd sensed in him downstairs was a true reflection of what he'd been through, he needed it. 

And deserved it. 

She watched him sleep for a long time, entranced by how peaceful he looked. Someone seeing him for the first time in this condition would be hard pressed to imagine that anything other than gentle words ever left his mouth. The worried furrow that lived between his brows was smoothed, his customary sneer lost in a sensual pout that made her want to kiss him again, though she resisted the urge for fear of waking him. _He almost looks handsome,_ she thought, stifling a giggle at what Ron's reaction would be if she told him _that._

Then he moved again, this time turning over on his back and throwing his left hand up onto the pillow beside his head. The skin around his Mark was still red, but the swelling had gone down appreciably and it was easier to make out the details of the design now. It was curious – if she hadn't known the significance of it, she might have thought it looked no worse than some of the body art one might see while walking the streets of Muggle London. But this was different, terribly different. The tattoo artists of London were unable to control their customers via their work, unable to make it burn them into madness once their needles withdrew. It might be possible to forget you even had a tattoo over time. But this was not the case with the Mark. It left its imprint on the soul and brain and marrow moreso than on the skin. 

Her thoughts turned to the flood of sensation she experienced earlier when her fingers brushed over it. What was it she felt? And could she feel it again? 

Did she _want_ to feel it again? 

Yes she did, she decided. If for no other reason than to gain a better understanding of the man now sharing his bed with her. 

Tentatively she reached toward the Mark, palm hovering for a moment as she gathered her nerve. Then she laid her hand upon it, fingers gently curling around his forearm. 

Immediately the impressions filled her head again, swirling lazily around her brain with far less energy than they had downstairs. This time the shouting, crying voices sounded as though they were underwater or reaching her ears from a great distance. She closed her eyes and concentrated on trying to make out what they were saying, without success. She gripped his arm harder and the sounds came closer, as though the speakers were running toward her, and finally a single word became discernible: an anguished voice shouting "NO!" over and over again. Though distorted, the voice was familiar and she felt she could figure out who it belonged to if she could only wrap her mind around it a moment longer… 

She gasped as his arm was jerked from beneath her fingers and her eyes flew open to find Snape staring at her with dark, quiet eyes. The echo of that wretched cry dissipated around the edges of her thoughts. 

"You're awake," she said unnecessarily. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"What do you think you were doing?" he replied, his customarily aloof facial expression sliding down over his features. It was disconcerting to see how quickly it reasserted itself after he awoke. 

"I… I was curious about the sensations I had earlier, downstairs. I wanted to see if it would happen again."

"I hope the results of your experiment were satisfactory," he said with a touch of sarcasm, stifling a yawn. "You interrupted a perfectly lovely dream." He scrubbed one eye with the heel of his hand, then turned back toward her, tucking his hand under the pillow to give additional support to his head. 

She smoothed the hair off his forehead, letting her fingers linger in his hair a bit longer than was strictly necessary to get the job done. He flinched at the contact, and for a moment she thought he might wave her away. But in the end, he allowed her to continue. 

"Go back to sleep," she said softly. "Maybe you'll get your dream back."

"It doesn't work that way, not for me," he replied. "The only dreams I ever get back once I'm awakened are the nightmares." 

She smiled, watching his face relax as she continued stroking his hair. 

"I suppose I owe you an apology," he said dryly, shocking her so much that she snatched her hand away in surprise. "I believe I was a bit… quick with you earlier. An atypical performance, I assure you. The only excuse I have is that it has been a very long time since I have been intimate with a woman, and it appears that in the interim I have become an old man."

  
She laughed. "Hardly that."

"Well, I _feel _immensely old. I haven't had to keep up with an 18 year old girl since… well actually I've _never_ had to keep up with an 18 year old girl." 

Another laugh as she reached out to tangle her fingers in his hair once more. "You can make it up to me next time."

The corners of his mouth jerked upwards for a moment and she grinned back, delighted. First an apology, then a joke and now this ghost of a smile – who _was_ this stranger she had known for seven years? 

He closed his eyes as she gently massaged his scalp, so silent then that she thought he had heeded her advice and decided to try and re-take his dream. Achy and bone tired, she was suddenly desperate for sleep herself, but when she closed her eyes, she found she was unable to relax. It didn't feel comfortable sleeping beside him, not just yet. It was all too new, this transformation from oppressive authority figure to lover. 

Besides, her thoughts were racing as she reflected on the day's incredible turn of events and they would not be calmed. She stared at the wall beyond Snape's still form, replaying the scenes in her mind – the train speeding away from Hogsmeade station, the gleam in Rosmerta's eye as they conversed, Snape's dark figure hunched in the back booth, the undulation of the Mark as she soothed it with the butter. 

The voices. That desperate scream. 

And then it came to her: the tormented voice that had sounded so familiar… it was Harry's. Screaming out in pain or loss or anger, or in some combination of the three. 

Why should she hear Harry's voice? Had he ever really shouted that way? And under what circumstances? 

She tensed, stilling the movements of her fingers in his hair. This roused him and he opened his eyes to see her brow wrinkling in confusion, a stricken look on her face. 

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I heard Harry's voice," she responded uncertainly. "When I touched your Mark just now, I heard Harry's voice." With a great effort, she focused her attention on his dark eyes. "What was that?"

This time he did shrug her hand away from his hair. Sighing deeply by way of reply, he rolled over on to his back. 

"What was it?" she demanded. "What's happening to me?"

"I cannot be sure," he answered in a tone that led her to know he was not being completely truthful with her. "But it appears we must consider the possibility that you… are an Empath."

"What on earth are you talking about?" 

He turned his head to glare at her, then sat up in the bed. "My gift to you, Miss Granger," he said smoothly, slipping unconsciously into his professorial role. "Something for you to research in that beloved library of yours. And now, if you do not intend to sleep here I would suggest you make your way back to Hogwarts. It has been a most exhausting afternoon and I will be unable to sleep if you insist on chattering the evening away."

It was a dismissal, and it stung. The door that had opened between them was now inexplicably slamming shut once again. She jumped out of the bed and hunted up her clothes, dressing quickly as he watched from his perch among the pillows. He did not speak again until she was on her way toward the door.

"I believe it would be best if we did not speak of this to anyone at Hogwarts," he said quietly, halting her in mid-stride. 

"No worries, Severus," she replied, his name rolling off her tongue for the first time. It felt strange in her mouth. "I doubt anyone would believe it, anyway." 

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked through the doorway, leaving Snape alone with his worries and doubts.

A/N: The first three chapters of this story were written in response to the Seducing Severus Snape challenge on the WIKTT mailing list. I had originally intended to stop writing it after those chapters were finished, but as I thought about it some more, I realized there was potential here for a much longer fic. This chapter lays the groundwork for what is to come. 

Many thanks to Quillusion for taking the time to kick around a few plot points with me! 


	5. Chapter 5

__

See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 5

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. Dumbledore assigned Hermione new rooms near the Transfiguration classroom, quarters a great deal more spacious than the ones she had enjoyed as Head Girl. After the comparatively Spartan setting of the dormitories, it seemed faintly indulgent to her to have chambers which incorporated not only a separate sitting room and bedroom, but an office, as well. She also had her own bathroom, tiled in polished marble and dominated by an enormous claw-footed tub appointed with gleaming gold fixtures. Each of the living areas had its own fireplace, and the walls of the office were lined with enough bookshelves to house her personal collection with ease. When Professor McGonagall showed her the rooms for the first time, she looked around with her mouth agape. They were nearly half as big as her parents' entire house. 

She spent much of the afternoon after her encounter with Snape moving her things from Gryffindor tower. She did her packing and unpacking methodically, without the aid of magic, enjoying the chance to flip through books she hadn't opened in years and to discard clothing that no longer fit. The physical activity felt good – it not only gave her a chance to work out the kinks in her muscles, it was the perfect way to distract her from reflecting on precisely why she was so sore in the first place. 

She didn't want to think about Snape, not just now. Later she would lie in bed and pore over every detail of the experience in her mind, but for now it was easier to fold clothes and tuck them into drawers, arrange picture frames on the mantelpieces and lovingly place books in alphabetical order on the shelves than it was to think about him. His rejection of her after what they had shared still rankled, and although the rational part of her brain told her she had to prepare some manner of response for the next time she saw him, for once she allowed the emotional part of her to overrule that logical little voice. 

"I'll figure out how to deal with him when the time comes," she informed Crookshanks, who was curled on her pillow with his tail switching, watching as she nudged a heavy box of books across the floor with her foot. He seemed to be adjusting to the move quite well, she was happy to see. "Right now, we've got some decorating to do!" 

Abandoning the box of books, she drew her wand and stood in the doorway leading to her new office. "Now, what color draperies would look best in here…?" 

****

Professor McGonagall asked Hermione to join her for an early breakfast on Monday morning, after which they would spend some time going over the course schedules for the next term. Kindred spirits in that they liked to tackle large tasks without delay, both wanted to get the preliminary work out of the way so they could concentrate on other matters. They were the first to arrive at the round table in the center of the Great Hall which served for staff meals during the summer holidays – which was not surprising, considering that the sun had only been up for an hour or so when they met. 

The Great Hall felt very large and very lonely to Hermione with all of the students gone. When the four long tables were crowded, it frequently become so noisy during meal times that it could be difficult to hear someone sitting two seats away. But in its current empty state, she was willing to bet she could stand at the back of the room and whisper a message that would be heard at the High Table. 

It was almost depressing. 

As the two women chatted, helping themselves to the scrambled eggs, toast and crisp bacon that appeared on the platters before them, Hermione had her first glimpse into the true personality of Minerva McGonagall. For all that every Hogwarts student sat in McGonagall's classroom for seven years, no pupil could truly claim to know her. Following the example of respected teachers for centuries before her, McGonagall approached her classes with a business-like air, her back stiff and her mouth firm as she explained and demonstrated. Stern but fair, she presented the same bland face to all those in her charge, shedding it only on infrequent occasions of great excitement such as a Gryffindor Quidditch victory or the appearance of three first-year students huddled around the hulk of an unconscious mountain troll. 

But this Minerva wore a different face. She had already come to regard her protégé as another member of the staff, treating Hermione with the same warmth and good humor she employed with the other teachers. Hermione found this very much to her liking, especially when Dumbledore arrived at the table and he and McGonagall included her in their good-natured bantering. 

"Have you any new jokes for us this morning, Albus?" Minerva asked, after the two senior professors had caught each other up on their personal news. She glanced up at Dumbledore over the top of her spectacles, lightly dusting pepper over her eggs. 

"No, but I've an old one," he replied, launching into an off-color joke that left Hermione both shocked and delighted. 

"….and the wife replied, 'But honey, this one is eating my popcorn!'" Dumbledore delivered the punch line gleefully, his eyes crinkling merrily as the women burst into laughter. 

"Surely you're not telling that old chestnut _again,_ Headmaster," a silky voice drawled. "I thought it would have been put out of its misery by now."

"Ah, Severus!" Dumbledore said warmly as Snape appeared at his elbow. "You're back. Wonderful to see you." He gestured to the chair next to his. "Please, join us." 

Hermione's heart leapt at the sight of him, her mutinous thoughts turning to the memory of being in his arms. She caught his eye, and cocking her head to one side, smiled slightly at him. _No hard feelings_, she thought. 

But he simply glared back at her in response. "No, thank you, Albus," he replied. "I've only just come in to let you know I have returned. I'll be in my chambers."

He gathered up his robes and swept from the room. 

Hermione stared down at her food, her face pinkening. _What is he so bent out of shape about?_ she thought, hoping neither McGonagall nor Dumbledore noticed her reaction. _I'm the injured party here, after all, what with his _wham-bam-didn't-even-say-thank-you-ma'mm _performance the other day. _

Whatever was wrong, it was apparently wrapped up in this idea of her being an Empath. She resolved to spend some time in the library as soon as possible, trying to figure out what the hell was bothering Snape.

****

"I've decided that you will spend your time in the upcoming year teaching the first-year students," McGonagall said as she and Hermione settled into her study after breakfast. "Based on your many hours of tutoring Messers. Potter, Weasley and Longbottom, I know you are more than amply prepared to teach the basics. That leaves me free to deal with the upper-level classes." 

Hermione beamed, proud that her efforts had been noticed.

They discussed next term's syllabus for the remainder of the morning, and Minerva assigned Hermione some reading on educational theory that would help prepare her for the rigors of teaching. As they finished their talk and McGonagall began gathering the parchments they had spread over her desk into a neat pile, she said, "You also have to remember that the purpose of your apprenticeship is not just to teach, Hermione. I want you to spend some of your time learning advanced Transfiguration techniques, as well. 

"As you already know, the smaller the item you are attempting to Transfigure something into, the easier it is to do. Larger, more complicated objects require far more effort and skill. As an exercise, I would like you to choose something complex and work on Transfiguring it. Anything will do, so long as it presents a challenge."

The choice was an easy one. "A piano," Hermione said without hesitation. 

For years, she'd wanted to have a Muggle piano at Hogwarts. At her mother's insistence, she had begun taking lessons on the family's battered baby grand at the age of seven, becoming an accomplished player in a short period of time. Her mother, a frustrated pianist herself, had often expressed the wistful desire that Hermione would take up playing professionally, and Hermione was considering doing just that until the day her letter arrived from Hogwarts. From that moment on, her mother's dreams of vicariously playing Carnegie Hall took a backseat to the demands of Hermione's magical coursework, which allowed her no time to practice during the school year. But she still played whenever she was home on holiday – it was her favorite way to relax, and she loved both the mathematical precision of music and the vibrations of the keys as they yielded beneath her fingers. It would be wonderful to be able to play more often. 

McGonagall arched one sculpted eyebrow behind her metal spectacles. "My goodness, child, you certainly are diving right in," she said. "Are you sure you want to begin with something so… ambitious?" 

Hermione nodded. "Quite sure, Professor."

"Very well, then," McGonagall said. "I have the utmost confidence in you. Check back with me in a few days and update me as to your progress. Good luck." 

****

She stopped in at the library after lunch to pick up the books on educational theory that Professor McGonagall had assigned. After a careful perusal of the volumes on the surrounding shelves, she decided to borrow two additional books that looked like they might be relevant. 

"Doing a bit of light reading, I see," Madam Pince sniffed as Hermione juggled the armload of heavy books up to the front desk. 

"No rest for the weary," Hermione replied, smiling weakly at the intimidating old librarian. "The student becomes the teacher becomes the student again."

Madam Pince pursed her lips as she stamped the books out in Hermione's name. 

"I was also wondering if you could help me with a project of a more personal nature," Hermione continued, unimpressed with the older woman's disapproving air. After all the hours she'd spent in the library over the years, she knew better than to fall for Madam Pince's sour act. "I'm looking for some information on Empathy. Any suggestions on where to begin?"

Pince narrowed her eyes. "That seems to be a hot topic today," she said. "Professor Snape was in here this morning asking about the very same thing." She turned around and removed a thick book from a metal cart behind her. "He seemed to find what he wanted in here."

Hermione glanced quickly at the front cover, amused to find that the book was titled _Powers You Never Knew You Had And What To Do With Them Now You've Wised Up_. 

"That's a reference book, so you may not remove it from the library," Madam Pince informed her, glaring at Hermione over her glasses. "Have a seat."

Piling the rest of her books on the librarian's desk, Hermione chose a table deep within the stacks, away from the reach of Pince's rheumy eyes. A musty smell wafted from the pages as she opened the book, and she could almost imagine it wondering to itself why it had gone so long undisturbed and was now being bothered twice in the same day. Given the almost sentient nature of some of the volumes in this room, it wouldn't have surprised her a bit to learn that this was actually the case. 

__

At least it didn't scream, Hermione thought gratefully, turning to the E section. 

The section on Empathy was disappointedly brief:

__

In general terms, Empathy is the ability to understand and identify with the situations, feelings, and motives of another person without that person stating such explicitly. Adherents of the Imus the Impossible school of thought have argued for centuries that Empathy is not, in fact, a magical power, primarily because it is so common among Muggles. However, Muggles appear capable of achieving only the most rudimentary level of Empathy, allowing them to get only a vague sense of the emotional states of those around them.

True Empathy, on the other hand, is seen exclusively among those with a magical bent (though it is most common among witches and wizards of Muggle ancestry). In its True form, the Empath is able not only to sense the emotional state of another, but may actually experience significant events in the person's past through their thoughts, feeling the physical and psychological impact of these events as well as their emotional effects. Typically, the True Empath is able to achieve this connection with only one person, referred to as the Object of the Empathy. The closer the Empath and the Object are emotionally, the stronger the Empath's impressions become. 

Fewer than two dozen cases of True Empathy have been documented since the wizarding community began keeping records on this phenomenon in 1063. It is widely believed that True Empathy is more common than currently known; however, the chances of any given Empath meeting up with his/her Object are so fantastically remote that this theory is impossible to prove. 

And that was all. It was just three simple paragraphs, but she recognized immediately what a potentially profound impact that handful of words could have on her life. 

She closed the book carefully, her thoughts in a sudden whirl. This could explain much. 

Could she be an Empath? And more importantly, was Snape her Object? 

How tantalizing the thought seemed! She had spent much of the last six months wanting to be close to him, to get to know him better… and now it looked as though she might have the chance to know him almost as well as he knew himself. Perhaps even better, because she would be able to see how the events of his past had served to shape him into the person he was now. And the things she might learn from him! The places he must have been, the things he must have done…

A frisson of fear suddenly crawled down her spine. _My God… the places he must have been, the things he must have done…_

Her throat worked nervously as she contemplated the horrific experiences that likely dominated his past. Merlin only knew what sort of mayhem and debauchery she might encounter, the people she might meet while strolling through the corridors of Snape's mind. She shivered at the thought of facing Voldemort, even in such a second-hand, protected manner. The very idea was terrifying.

No wonder he had shut down that way. 

She gazed at the ceiling for a few long moments, her eyes unfocused as she uneasily daydreamed about the possibilities. Then, crashing back to reality, she shook her head in an attempt to clear it. The whole thing was ridiculous. If she really was an Empath and Snape her Object, why was she just learning about it now, after knowing him for seven years? It couldn't be true.

__

But she had heard Harry's voice. There was no denying that much. 

Abandoning the book on the table, she hurried out of the library. In her haste, Hermione almost didn't hear Madam Pince shattering the usually inviolable quiet of her sanctuary by shouting after her.

"Your books, Miss Granger! You've forgotten your books!"

"Have a house elf send them along to my rooms for me, please!" she called over her shoulder, turning away without registering the look of indignation that crossed the librarian's face.

"Humph," Pince muttered as Hermione scurried away. "Some people are awfully high and mighty around here already!"

****

Snape held a block of wax in the flickering orange heart of the candle flame, rolling it to and fro until it melted sufficiently to smear on the edge of the rolled parchment sitting on the desk in front of him. Immediately, he pressed his personal seal into the wax, leaving an imprint of a highly stylized pair of capital Ss resting on a bed of serpents. A large horned owl stood nearby, preening its feathers in preparation for its long flight. 

"Finally ready, old friend," Snape murmured, tying the parchment to the bird's leg. "Fly swiftly, now. I need you to return as quickly as possible."

The owl _skree_'d softly in response, ducking its head with pleasure as Snape scratched it gently behind the ear. Then it spread its wings and took off in a ruffle of feathers as Snape opened his office door. He watched it fly gracefully through the dungeon corridor, then shut the door firmly behind it and invoked a locking charm. That done, he finally took the time to remove his outer robes and collapse wearily into a chair by the fire. 

The information on Empathy available in the Hogwarts library was woefully inadequate. It told him nothing he did not already know, and he hoped that the old wizard at the National Library of Scotland would be able to dig up something more concrete for him. There was a great deal at stake, and he needed to know exactly what he was up against. 

In the meantime, it would be best to avoid Hermione Granger altogether.

__

Of course, he thought bitterly. _Fate has kicked you in the balls once again, Severus Snape._

Amazing how even the smallest glimmers of happiness in his life always managed to get snuffed out. It was the first time he'd been interested in getting close to a woman – or anyone, for that matter – since… well, for more than a decade, anyway. And now, given the apparent circumstances, it just wasn't worth the risk. If she were to be sucked into the madness as he had been…

It didn't bear thinking about.

He was still sitting in the chair brooding before the dying fire, when he heard the rapping at his office door. He made no move to respond, and a few moments later it was repeated, more insistently this time. 

"Professor?" her voice called. "Are you there?" 

Strange that it should give him a twinge to hear her call him _Professor _again. It seemed like ages ago that she had been his student rather than just a few days. 

Could she, even now, sense that he was there? Was he already that transparent to her? 

He stayed rooted to his spot, staring into the glowing bed of embers until he heard her footfalls echoing away down the corridor. Only then did he sigh and close his eyes, tipping his head back against the chair cushions. 

A/N: The joke Dumbledore tells at the breakfast table is a nod to the film _Men in Black_. You can read the entire joke here: http://www.geocities.com/gerardsplace/mibjoke.txt


	6. Chapter 6

See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 6

Severus Snape was not, by nature, a dawdler. 

In fact, he loathed anything that smacked of wasting time. It annoyed him to no end to see students loafing in the common rooms, chatting and playing games like that ridiculous Exploding Snap when they could be doing something more worthwhile. Years of living dangerously had given Snape a new perspective on the matter – when one spends his days only inches from Death, he learns to cram as much productive activity into each hour as possible, on the chance that tomorrow would never come. Time was a gift, and to fritter it away in useless diversions was a crime. 

All of which explained the mild sense of disgust he felt when he realized he was now doing that hateful thing himself. 

He tried to tell himself it was because he awaited Algernon's return from the National Library. It had been four days since Snape sent the old owl off with his request for more information on Empathy, and he grew more impatient as the hours passed with no news. He had not left his chambers for fear that he would miss the bird's arrival – or so he rationalized. Deep down he knew Algernon would be able to find him no matter where he was, but it was somehow easier to use that as an excuse to hole up in his rooms than to admit that he was afraid. 

And so he loitered about his quarters, thumbing through old issues of _Potions Master's Monthly _and straightening bric-a-brac that was already in perfect order. Four frustrating days of self-imposed inactivity. Four frustrating nights punctuated by dreams of warm skin, sweet-tasting kisses and bodies molded together in blessed forgetfulness. 

He was going stir crazy. 

The clock on the mantelpiece struck ten, and Snape decided it was time to stop acting so foolishly. If the other morning was any indication of their working relationship, Minerva and Hermione would certainly have finished breakfast long ago. Surely there was no harm in his venturing up to the Great Hall at this hour. 

The gamble paid off. Dumbledore was the table's sole occupant when Snape got there, the other places already cleared and set for lunch. The Headmaster had a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ open before him on the table, reading it over the top of his spectacles as he sipped a steaming cup of tea. 

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him pleasantly as Snape sat down. "I trust all is well with you this fine day."

"As well as can be expected, Albus," Snape replied, helping himself to a few triangles of toast and a scoop of eggs. "No major disasters as of yet."

"Well, the day is still young," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps your luck will change." He glanced up at Snape with smiling eyes. 

Snape frowned at the Headmaster's comment. Dumbledore was joking, he knew, but in his present frame of mind it seemed more like a prophecy than a jest. He did not respond, concentrating instead on the job of spreading a thin layer of orange marmalade to the very edges of his toast. Thankfully, Dumbledore seemed to sense that the younger man did not feel like talking – after all, this was not an unusual occurrence – and turned his attention back to his newspaper. They sat in companionable silence, broken only by the clink of silverware on china and the riffling of newsprint. 

Snape was pouring his third cup of tea when the choppy beat of a bird's wings echoed through the Hall. A moment later, Algernon perched on the back of his chair, flapping his broad wings smartly a few times before tucking them neatly in at his sides. The owl dropped a sky blue envelope bearing the crest of the National Library into Snape's lap, then dipped his beak into the glass of water his master held aloft before heading off for a meal and some rest in the owlery. 

He turned the envelope over in his hands, debating if he should open it there or wait until he got back to the privacy of his chambers. He had just decided to do the latter when Dumbledore spoke again. 

"I assume McNair found the information on Empathy you wanted?" the old man inquired. 

Snape sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Headmaster, have you been intercepting my correspondence?" he snapped. 

"Not at all, Severus." 

"Then would you mind telling me exactly how you knew I had written to McNair for help?"

"I'm omniscient, my boy, didn't you know?" 

Snape opened his eyes and glowered at his mentor, whose smile grew even broader in the face of his annoyance. "Albus…" he began, but Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him. 

"Madam Pince mentioned that both you and Miss Granger were asking about Empathy the other day. I reviewed what little information we had in our library and assumed that you would try to find out more. And I got a similar envelope from McNair on an unrelated matter just last week. It was simple deduction, nothing more."

"All you need now is a magnifying glass and a physician sidekick and you could star in your own series of detective stories," Snape replied dryly. Dumbledore never failed to amaze him. 

"What I don't know," the Headmaster continued, as though Snape had not spoken, "is _why_ there is all this interest in Empathy of a sudden. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Snape took a moment to consider his response. He had not intended to tell anyone else of his suspicions. But Dumbledore was the closest thing Snape had to a friend, and nothing if not discreet. And knowing the old wizard's uncanny way of finding out about practically everything that took place within the castle walls, there was little hope of keeping it from him for long, anyway. 

He took a deep breath. "I… have reason to believe that Miss Granger is a True Empath," he said haltingly. 

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Interesting," he murmured. He paused for a moment, then said, "And who is her Object?"

Leave it to Albus to come directly to the point. "It would appear that I am the unlucky recipient of that dubious honor."

To Snape's surprise, the Headmaster's face stretched into a delighted grin. "Indeed! How very intriguing. I wonder how it is that we did not know of this before now."

"I suppose it's because I never allowed her to get close enough to touch me before," Snape barked, suddenly angry for reasons he did not fully understand. He glared at Dumbledore, whose expression changed again as the meaning of Snape's words became clear. 

"I see," Dumbledore replied. With deliberate casualness, he curled his index finger through the handle of his tea cup and raised it to his lips. "And I suppose you intend never to allow her close enough to do so again?"

"What choice do I have?" Snape spat. "I've no desire for my life to become an open book. To _anyone._"

The Headmaster placed his cup back on its saucer. "I wish you would reconsider, Severus."

Snape was dumbfounded. His mouth dropped open in surprise as Dumbledore continued. "Think of it as a scientific experiment, my friend. So little is known of Empathy. It could mean a great deal to a great many if you were to explore this more fully."

Snape sat forward in his chair, black eyes blazing. "There is a great deal about my past that I do not wish to share with the world at large, Albus," he hissed. "I would have thought that you – of all people – would understand that." 

"I do, of course. But you've no longer any reason for fearing your past, Severus. Everyone who posed a threat to you is either dead or locked up at Azkaban. If you are truly worried about it, I can arrange it so that any sensitive information Miss Granger uncovers is not released until the time of your death." 

"And what of Miss Granger herself?" Snape bulleted, enraged in the face of Dumbledore's unruffled demeanor. "Don't you realize how dangerous it could be for her to be exposed to the Dark in this way?"

"Oh, that." Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "If that's what concerns you, put your mind at rest. You have no traces of the Dark around you any longer, Severus. If you did, do you truly think I would allow you to be around these children?"

Snape's breath rushed out of his lungs in a sudden huff. It had never occurred to him before, but the logic was inescapable. Dumbledore would never have taken such a risk with so many young, impressionable minds.

"Now, what other objections did you come up with while you were skulking about in the dungeons these past few days?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling once again. When Snape did not respond, the Headmaster pushed his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. 

"Give it some thought, Severus," he said, placing his hand lightly on the younger man's shoulder. "The Muggles are fond of saying that confession is good for the soul. You have been given an opportunity to exorcise some of those demons you carry around with you. Don't be so hasty to throw that opportunity away." He patted Snape's shoulder paternally, then turned and walked away. 

***

Minerva had been right – Transfiguring a piano was no easy task. In fact, it was beginning to seem bloody impossible. 

For days, Hermione had closeted herself in the staff room, experimenting on one of the overstuffed armchairs. She had lately come to think of herself as a relatively powerful witch, but the lack of success she now faced quickly humbled her. After hours of exhausting struggle, she managed to get only as far as creating the outer shell of the instrument. That was the easy part. Achieving the more than 5,000 moving parts inside of it, however, was a horse of a different color. 

It didn't help a bit that she was having trouble concentrating. Her thoughts seemed to drift toward the enigma known as Severus Snape on an hourly basis, and more than once she had to shake herself out of daydreams with sharp internal rebukes to _FOCUS, damn it!_ She had not seen him since that morning at breakfast when he had snubbed her attempt at reconciliation, and judging by the way he had deflected her attempt to speak with him that afternoon it was painfully obvious that he wanted nothing more to do with her. This business of allowing him to live in her head had to stop. There was not enough room in there to accommodate both him and this Herculean task. 

"Try visualization," McGonagall had suggested that afternoon when Hermione collapsed into a chair in her office, complaining about her lack of progress. "It's not enough to just _think _about a piano as you cast the spell. You must _see_ it, _feel_ it. Picture yourself seated at the bench. Feel the keys. Visualize the movements of the hammers as they strike the strings. Think about the sounds and vibrations of the music. You must recreate the whole instrument in minute detail in your mind in order to be able to fashion it in the physical world."

Hermione took the advice to heart and tried again after dinner that evening. She closed her eyes and let her mind run free, picturing her parent's piano in every detail, even down to the scratches in its lid. With this picture firmly in mind, she flicked her wand at the stubborn armchair and cast the spell. 

Closer this time. Much closer. But not quite. A few keys were still missing, their absence giving the keyboard the appearance of a mouth lacking its front teeth. 

She tried again. And then again. Over and over, each time screwing her eyes shut and creating a more vivid mental image of her goal. 

No luck. 

A quick glance at the majestic grandfather clock standing guard in the corner told her she'd been working for nearly three hours. _This is it,_ she thought wearily, closing her eyes yet again. _One last attempt. If it doesn't work this time, I'm packing it in for the day and going to bed._ She lifted her tired wand arm and muttered the spell. 

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. And stared. 

It _looked_ right. All the keys were in place, the pedals were in their proper position, the wooden case scratched in all the right spots. She cautiously lifted the lid and gazed in at the strings and hammers, all seemingly arranged in the desired fashion. She sat at the bench and tentatively played a few chords, wincing as the notes echoed across the room. It was badly out of tune. 

No matter, magic could easily fix that little problem. 

A few charms later, she was playing scales. Her fingers were rusty from disuse, but they quickly warmed to the action of the keys. Damn, it felt good to play again! Lethargy forgotten in the glow of accomplishment and the excitement of doing something she truly loved, she bent her head and lost herself in different kind of magic. 

***

Midnight found Snape wandering the darkened corridors of Hogwarts. It was his habit to walk through the castle each night before retiring, a routine born during his years as a spy when insomnia was a constant – and unwelcome – companion. He slept easier now that the Dark Lord's gluttonous shadow no longer consumed everything it touched, but he continued his late night strolls nonetheless. It was oddly comforting to walk in the silence, to sense the tranquil presence of those sleeping behind the stone walls and to know he had played a role in preserving their peaceful slumber. This was especially true at times like this, when there were no miserable little brats around to muck up his reflections by sneaking about after curfew. 

He climbed the steps leading from the dungeons to the ground floor and pushed the door open. Faint measures of piano music reached his ears and he stopped short, a puzzled frown creasing his face. There was no piano in this part of the castle – in fact, as far as he knew there was no piano in the school at all. On the handful of occasions he could recall when one was required, Minerva had Transfigured one out of a table or armchair and then changed it back when the need for it had been met. But surely, Minerva was not up playing the piano at this hour. Snape knew she kept to a rigidly defined schedule, turning in early and never venturing from her chambers at night unless she was needed in her House. 

His curious feet drifted toward the source of the music. As he approached, the indistinct sounds coalesced into the unmistakable strains of a Mozart piano concerto. The pianist was obviously skilled, for the concerto was a difficult one, and he idly wondered if perhaps Lupin or Sprout had charmed their fingers in order to pull off such a masterful performance. 

Just ahead, the door to the staff room was ajar, a bar of light spilling out into the darkness like a beacon. Snape strode to the door and was about to pull it open when the music within stopped and a new piece was begun. This one was far more contemporary than the work of the old master, but no less beautiful in its simplicity. He froze, drawing a surprised breath as he recognized the melody. 

Snape knew the song well. It was part of the soundtrack of the happiest – and therefore briefest – period of his life, and though many hard years had passed since the last time he heard it, he remembered every note as clearly as if he had heard it only yesterday. He leaned into the sound, suddenly immersed in a flood of bittersweet memories.

Brigid… he thought, and a hand clamped around his heart. 

The pianist played slowly, as though trying to remember the next notes, running through the prelude a few times before achieving it without mistakes. Then a voice began to sing the familiar words, its pitch an octave higher the original composer's:

They say that these are not the best of times,  
But they're the only times I've ever known.  
And I believe there is a time for meditation

In cathedrals of our own.

  


Now I have seen that sad surrender in my lover's eyes,  
And I can only stand apart and sympathize  
For we are always what our situations hand us…  
It's either sadness or euphoria.  


Hermione's voice.

Snape opened the door noiselessly and stood in the doorframe. Hermione's back was to him, her head bent low over the keyboard as she played the song from memory. Clearly she had not heard him enter, and she continued singing. 

So we'll argue and we'll compromise,  
And realize that nothing's ever changed.  
For all our mutual experience, 

Our separate conclusions are the same.

  


Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity,  
Our reason co-exists with our insanity,  
And though we choose between reality and madness…  
It's either sadness or euphoria.  


His fragmented mind automatically supplied the sounds of woodwinds as she played through the bridge, his lips moving in silent accompaniment to the last verse. 

  
How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies,  
Perhaps we don't fulfill each other's fantasies,  
And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives,  
With our respective similarities…  


She stopped suddenly, sounding a single key repeatedly while cocking her head to the side. A sharp pang knifed through his chest when the music ceased before she sang the last line, the line that always struck him as the perfect encapsulation of his own life. 

"It's either sadness or euphoria," he murmured quietly. 

***

Hermione whirled on the bench and leapt to her feet. "My God, you scared the _life_ out of me!" she said, her heart pounding with a sudden rush of adrenaline. It was even money whether this hormonal blast was caused by the shock of being unexpectedly interrupted or by the thought that she had seen the face of the man now standing before her contort in orgasm. "What are you _doing _here?"

Snape entered the room, moving slowly with a strange expression playing on his features. "I heard the music and came to investigate. I didn't know you played the piano."

"And I didn't know _you_ were into Billy Joel," Hermione replied peevishly. Seeing him again lit a new flame under the hurt she'd received at his hand. 

Her tone seemed to bring him out of whatever reverie had captured him, and his eyes swam back into focus. "Yes, well, I am familiar with that particular song, anyway. An acquaintance of mine used to listen to it on occasion. It was a surprise to hear it again." He paused. "Would you play it for me once more?" he asked quietly. 

He could not have astounded her more thoroughly if he had asked her to remove all of her clothes right there in the staff room. The stranger she had slept with a week ago had returned, apparently alive and well and making himself at home in the body of the Potions Master. She blinked rapidly a few times before turning back to the piano and slipping into place at the bench. 

He sat beside her as she played, and when she finished he stilled her hand on the keyboard by cupping it with his own. _He's happy,_ she realized, as their fingers interlaced. Waves of it radiated from him, bright yellow plumes that made her heart swell with their intensity, though all the while underneath there were hints of anxiety and melancholia, as well. But she was too delighted at the role she had played to bring the positive emotion about to reflect on why the negative ones existed in tandem. 

"I take it this means I'm forgiven?" she ventured, instantly regretting her words when he drew his hand away. She reached for it again, curling her fingers into his palm and pulling their joined hands into her lap. "Severus, please. This Empathy thing… let's just forget about it, shall we?"

He shook his head. "No. We cannot. Now that the door has opened, you will receive impressions from me every time we come into contact with one another." He lifted his eyes to hers. "The only way out is for me never to touch you again. Is that what you want?"

"No," she whispered. _God help me, that's not what I want at all. _

"Then we must find a way to make peace with the situation." He shifted on the bench and turned so he was facing her. "Hermione, there's something else you must know before this goes any further. There is a certain element of risk here that you may not be aware of."

Her eyebrows quirked. "What kind of risk?"

He paused for a moment, and she could sense his reluctance to explain. "Let me ask you this: why do you suppose most witches and wizards are afraid to get involved with anything even remotely connected with Dark magic?" 

She frowned at the seeming randomness of the question. "I guess it's because they don't want to get into trouble with the Ministry."

He shook his head. "Don't guess, think! Dark magic has been around a great deal longer than the Ministry has." She stared at him blankly, uncertain as to exactly what he wanted her to say. "Think of it this way: imagine being the type of person for whom power is ultimate thrill. The ultimate ambition. More than anything, that person wants to be in control, to make a difference. He is desperate to stand out from the crowd because of his personality or his accomplishments, and for whatever reason he is unable to do so via conventional means. Or perhaps he is seeking something else that he cannot obtain, perhaps love or revenge or redemption. 

"Now, imagine such a person being placed in a position where he holds the power of life and death in his hands. Where he can impel someone to do whatever it is he wishes, and if they do not bent to his will, he can punish them with searing pain until they do. That, Hermione… that is supreme power. And to a person such as the one I've described, Dark magic is like a drug. Use of it makes him feel like a god." 

Snape's voice dropped and he closed his eyes. "He gets drunk with it. The results might be evil and painful to others, but to the one wielding the power, it feels… so… damn… good… It's too strong… too strong…" He broke off. 

"You make it sound like an addiction," she noted when it was apparent he was finished speaking. 

He opened his eyes. "Yes, exactly. It _is_ an addiction."

"What?" she whispered, eyes widening. 

"An addiction," he repeated. "A psychological addiction, like a wizard's drug. You've no idea of the power of it, or how easy it is to get ensnared in it. It doesn't take much exposure before you lose yourself. Sometimes, all it takes is being around a powerful Dark wizard, even if you don't invoke the Dark yourself. Trust me, I know whereof I speak." He sighed and shook his head. "It becomes a compulsion – you have to engage the Dark more and more frequently or you feel as though you will die if you don't. You need that control over the lives of others because you no longer have control of your own life."

She swallowed. "So you… you were an addict?"

He nodded, turning away, and she could sense the guilt and shame welling up within him. "Everyone associated with Voldemort was addicted to the Dark."   


  
"Harry…?" 

"No. He seems to have escaped it, just like he escaped the Killing Curse. The Teflon Boy Who Lived." He sneered at the thought. 

"And are you still addicted?"  


He sighed again. "Like all addicts, I will have to struggle with it for the rest of my life. The compulsion is still there. But it no longer rules my every waking moment like it used to. I am able to function in society without worrying that exposure to me will cause others to be lost to the Darkness." 

"Then what does all this have to do with me?"

"Perhaps nothing. But there is also a chance that Empathic contact with my thoughts and past experiences will place you at risk. I want you to think about that, and think about it carefully before you decide if this is something you want to do." 

Their eyes met, and she squeezed his hand gently. "I will," she said softly. Then she leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek. He stiffened slightly at the feathery contact but did not pull away. And though he did he move to reciprocate, Hermione could feel that he was not displeased.

"Come to me when you have made up your mind," he said, rising to his feet. "And if in typical Gryffindor fashion you foolishly choose to pursue the matter, be prepared to know both sadness and euphoria." 

And then he was gone. 

***

Hermione did not sleep much that night. Her nerves hummed as she lay in bed, electrified both by her success with the piano and at the idea of being given a second chance to get closer to such a strangely compelling man. It also didn't help that Crookshanks spent the better part of the night tearing around her rooms, jumping on and off the bed and diving under the furniture in pursuit of some figment of his overactive feline imagination. 

She moved through her day like an automaton, performing the work Minerva assigned for the morning while continually turning Snape's words over in her head. The afternoon found her on the piano bench again, playing an impromptu concert for the Headmaster and a few other professors who clapped delightedly and asked for encore after encore. She had no chance to break free of her responsibilities until after dinner. 

When the meal was concluded (sans Snape), she hurried back to her rooms and changed into fresh robes. As she dressed, she caught sight of the pressed rose she had retrieved from the floor of The Three Broomsticks in the open jewelry box on her bureau. On impulse, she scooped it up before heading out the door. 

The air was cool and still in the dungeon corridor, making her shiver as she traversed it. Snape's office door was closed, and for an instant she feared he would again refuse to answer her knock. But she needn't have worried. She barely had time to lower her arm before the door was jerked open and Snape stood looming in the doorway. 

Neither spoke for a long moment. Then Hermione reached into the pocket of her robe and extended her hand, proffering the dried rose in her palm. 

"I've decided," she said simply. 

He curled his fingers around her hand, pulling her into the office and shutting the door behind them. 

A/N: The characters' interest in Billy Joel is the only vestige of Mary-Sue-ism I will allow them, I promise. The lyrics are from the song Summer, Highland Falls, (c) 1976, from the magnificent Turnstiles CD. Used without permission. 

Also, I've read so many fics lately that I can't recall which author came up with the idea of _Potions Master's Monthly_. I'm fairly sure I didn't come up with it myself. If it was your idea, please let me know and I will give you proper credit in the author's notes of a future chapter. 

Anyone actually reading this? Does it suck? Is it worth continuing? Let me know – you can email me through my profile if you'd rather not respond publicly. Any suggestions/comments/feedback/flames/kudos/whatever are more than welcome. 


	7. Chapter 7

__

See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 7

"You're sure." It was more a statement than a question.

Hermione nodded wordlessly, pressing the rose into his hand. 

His brows drew inward in a faint echo of his usual scowl as he studied her face. "Why?" he asked quietly.

How could she explain? What could she say to convince a man who had spent the better part of his life wrapped in despair and self-loathing that she wanted to see past all that to the man on the inside? _I'm a monster, Hermione,_ he had said. But she knew that wasn't the whole truth. It couldn't be. There had to be more to him than his façade of anger and bitterness. His actions during the second rise of Voldemort spoke to it – at his core there was something of honor and courage and loyalty, otherwise he would never have risked so much for so many for so long. 

That was the part of him she wanted to touch.

But she could not find the words to articulate what she felt. Even if she had, she doubted he would believe it anyway, so determined was he to see only the negative about himself. So instead she said simply, "Because… it's you."

He almost – but not quite – rolled his eyes at this. "How very maudlin," he replied dryly. 

She smiled, knowing he'd seen past the transparency of her response. Then her face grew more serious and she reached one hand out to touch his cheek. "What made you change your mind?"

Now it was his turn to pause. His expression changed into something she could not quite understand, and for a moment she thought she might have pushed him too far. But then she felt him draw strength from some deep-seated inner reserve. 

"I want to be understood," he said finally. 

His tone was that of a penitent who desired absolution but feared his sins were too numerous to forgive. She brought her other hand to his face, stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. He returned the embrace, crushing her against his chest with strong arms, and she could feel the longing welling up inside him. A longing not for her, but for himself. 

He tipped her chin up with one long finger, bending his head to bring their lips together. They clung to one another and the kiss deepened as they each prepared for the journey in their own separate ways… he filled with doubt and she brimming with certainty.

***

"Give me your hand."

They sat side by side in armchairs he drew up in front of the hearth, leaping firelight making shadows twirl and dance across their faces in hypnotic patterns. He extended his hand and Hermione took it, noting with some alarm that the moisture which had drained from her suddenly dry mouth was now springing up on her palms instead. Thankfully, he made no mention of it as he interlaced his long, dry fingers with her damp ones. 

"How would you like to begin?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow at her as he settled back in his seat. 

"Slowly," she replied. "Something simple, just a test. One of your classes, perhaps, or some other experience we have in common so I will know if what I'm seeing really happened." 

"Very well," he replied. "Close your eyes and concentrate. If we truly are Empath and Object, you should begin receiving impressions of what I'm thinking about within a few moments." 

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the chair, trying to clear her mind. But she was so distracted by the thudding of her heart and the even sounds of his breathing that she soon began fidgeting in her chair. "Hermione," he said finally in an _if-you're-not-even-going-to-try-then-let's-forget-all-about-this_ tone of voice. 

"All right, I'm sorry," she replied. "Let's try again." She took a deep breath and willed herself to relax, turning her mind outward, towards him. 

A few long moments passed before she became aware of a faint glimmer of light hovering at the very edge of her thoughts. The light wavered and nearly faded as she shifted excitedly in her chair, then grew stronger when she poured every bit of her considerable power of concentration in its direction. 

Slowly, the shimmer of light coalesced into a flickering tongue of fire. _A candle,_ she realized. The flame was encircled by a fuzzy halo of diffuse yellow light, not entirely in focus. As she yielded to the impression more flames appeared, hundreds of bright blobs of firelight from hundreds of candles bobbing in mid-air. More details swam into view, and though blurry and indistinct they were clear enough for her to understand she was viewing something she had seen hundreds of times in her life at Hogwarts – the Great Hall. 

It gave her the strangest feeling of déjà vu as she saw the Hall through his eyes – the loops of garland decorating the walls, the huge pine wreaths, the enormous Christmas tree at the front of the room, the sounds of laughter and talking that were now also invading her consciousness. How odd to be experiencing both her own memories of that night and his at the same time. It was like an exceptionally lucid dream and she yielded to it, focusing on him and his reactions to the goings on around him. 

Suddenly the bottom dropped out from under her world and she fell, racing downwards into darkness at the same moment that he rocketed past her up into the light, losing herself until there was no more Hermione Granger in this strange hybrid being they had created, there was only Severus Snape. She was thinking his thoughts, feeling his emotions, seeing with his eyes, hearing with his ears. She could taste a cool sip of pumpkin juice as it slipped down his throat, could feel the chafe of a particularly scratchy pair of woolen socks covering his feet. She was part of his mind, and it was a far more intimate experience than any act that involved the body alone could ever be.

__

He pulled his chair up to the table and scowled irritably, already counting the minutes until he could excuse himself and return to the sanctuary of the dungeon. Damn Albus for planning this inane Ball, damn him for insisting that Severus attend, and damn the cosmos for fashioning the Earth in such a way that it had the winter solstice which prompted celebration of this ridiculous holiday in the first place. He hated Christmas and everything associated with it. He resented having to give up one of his precious weekend evenings in his room at The Three Broomsticks. And besides, the overpowering smell of pine permeating the room was beginning to make his nose itch. 

"Well, well, Severus, I see you've got your holiday face on." Dumbledore's nauseatingly happy grin was firmly in place, stretching wider as Severus's face darkened into a glare. The older man patted his hand affectionately. "Relax and enjoy yourself." 

"The only part of this evening that I will enjoy is its conclusion," Severus drawled, and Dumbledore chuckled in response. 

"I gather that means you will again decline to portray Father Christmas at the Yule Pageant this year?" the Headmaster teased gently. Minerva's hand flew to her mouth in a fruitless attempt to hide her snicker, but the crinkling of her eyes left little doubt that she enjoyed the image of Severus in red suit and white beard that was flitting through her mind. 

He was spared the need to come up with a suitably biting retort by a flurry of commotion at the table behind him. By the sound of it, Potter and his Dream Team had claimed the seats and were quite noisily making themselves comfortable. He reflected for a moment on the fact that prior to the war he would have been vastly irritated by being forced into such close proximity to the Pain-In-The-Arse Who Lived. Much had changed in the aftermath of that final battle, however, and while Potter's mostly-undeserved celebrity status still rankled, Severus was finally able to view the boy with something approaching equanimity – in his own mind, at least. Amazing what a few deflected Unforgivables and three weeks kipping in the rain can do for the perspective, _he thought cynically. _

__

Emerging from his reverie, he noticed Minerva was smiling at something over his shoulder. She rose in her seat a bit and said, "You look lovely tonight, Miss Granger." 

__

"Thank you, Professor," came the happy response from behind him, and without thinking he craned his neck to see what the fuss was about. He raked Hermione with a quick glance and then turned back, keeping his features carefully schooled with the ease of one who learned long ago that maintaining a poker face is the best way to avoid questions best left unanswered. But anyone watching him carefully would have seen his Adam's apple work hurriedly as he tried to swallow the lump that had unexpectedly risen in his throat. 

The girl was beautiful. 

__

For all his years as a teacher, he had never paid much heed to the way students entered Hogwarts as children and left as adults. He formed impressions of most students in their first year, and regardless of how much or how fast they matured, those impressions usually lasted until they graduated. Even if he happened to see them again years later, his first thought of anyone who had ever sat in his classroom was of the 11 year old child they'd been when he first set eyes on them. Hermione Granger had been no exception to this rule – until tonight. 

And it made him angry. Furious, in fact, though he was unsure why until he saw her dancing with Black and his anger began to taste of something a bit more unsettling. With a start, he realized he was jealous. He hated the idea of Black being so close to her, touching her even in this most innocent of ways. The man had no right to the intelligent beauty he held in his arms, had done nothing to earn the privilege of saying things to her that made her laugh. He seethed as she and Black spun around the dance floor, the smile on Black's face becoming just another in the endless line of taunts the bastard had given him since they were children. 

When they returned to the staff table and she caught his eye, lips curved into a happy smile and the half light creating a heartbreakingly beautiful shadow along the lines of her neck, his jealousy tightened into longing – and he suddenly realized the danger inherent in the situation, as well. "Don't even think about it, Miss Granger," he sneered, trying to deflect the flame before it roared into a conflagration but realizing at once he had made a tactical error. In typical Gryffindor style, she snatched up the gauntlet he had thrown down and after being goaded by both Albus (damn him again!) and the little Malfoy shitweasel, he found he had no choice. 

He spent the entire dance with an iron fist closed around his emotions. Later he would allow himself the luxury of analyzing what he was feeling, but now was neither the time nor the place. When she stumbled against him and he felt her heart racing like a scared rabbit he knew they were both in a great deal of trouble. But the thudding he felt through her chest also filled him a surge of… something… something good and hopeful and positive and warm. They held each other for a moment while he fought the insane urge to pull her hair from the confines of its French twist and run his fingers through it. And then the spell was broken, and he silently cursed the knot of Slytherin fourth years who stood snickering at them for ruining the first happy moment he'd had in the gods only knew how long… 

***

She felt as though she were deep underwater, so deep that the sunlight dappling the surface was nothing more than a bright speck miles above her head. She was content to float here, gently buffeted by the current and serene in the silence. But then she realized she couldn't breathe and began to panic. She turned and began frantically swimming upwards, knifing her way through the water, faster and faster until she broke the surface and gulped in great lungsful of air. 

"Hermione," a voice said, and slowly the world around her came back into focus. Snape sat silently, watching her come out of it with his hands folded in his lap. 

"What happened?" she croaked. "Why did we stop?" 

"_Accio water,"_ he said, and a brimming glass drifted across the room, coming to rest on the table next to Hermione's chair. She gulped it gratefully. "How do you feel?"

She paused for a moment to take stock of herself. "I feel… odd," she replied finally. "I feel a little weak, and a bit disoriented. But I was there, wasn't I." 

He nodded. "Yes." 

She sat back heavily in her chair. "Then it's true." 

He nodded again. "Yes." 

They locked eyes and she realized he had broken the contact because he did not want her to know any more about his state of mind that night at the Yule Ball. It made her itch in the middle of her chest to know why, but she knew she had to respect his decision. He was already giving up so much of himself.

"I think that's enough for one evening," Snape said, starting to rise, but she sat upright again quickly, grasping his hand before he could unseat himself. 

"No, not yet. Please. Show me something else. It doesn't have to be about me." She entreated him with her eyes, fully aware that she was manipulating him but not much caring about it. He was not the type of man who could be manipulated if he didn't want to be, anyway. 

And apparently he did want to be just then, because he did not try to shake off her grip on his fingers. "Close your eyes," he whispered.

***

__

The subdued murmur of voices was silenced when he stepped into the family sitting room and closed the heavy door behind him. He knew he should stay with the guests, knew his mother would be upset by his absence, but he desperately wanted to be alone. A large, black dog lay prone on a worn throw rug in front of the fireplace. He crossed the room quickly, throwing himself to the floor and wrapping his arms around the dog's neck as he erupted into loud, shuddering sobs. 

The animal was only a few years old, but he was already almost completely lame. Severus remembered the day his parents had taken him to buy the dog. His first choice had been a lively, mixed-breed puppy with bright eyes that stood on his hind legs and licked the enchanted child's hand through the wire mesh comprising its cage. But his father had taken one look at the little canine and firmly steered Severus to another set of kennels. No mixed-breed dog was good enough to live in Dunstan Snape's house. Mixed parentage meant weakness, after all, and the Snapes were nothing if not strong. The family may have fallen on hard times in the current generation, but they were still powerful wizards and as fiercely proud as they had been when Severus's great-great-grandfather had first won his fortune and built Snape Manor.

And so the purebred black Labrador – which Severus had named Sirius, a name that had captured his imagination ever since the first time his father traced the pattern of Canis Major out of the night sky with his finger – came home with them, and within a few months began to show signs of hip dysplasia. In short order, the poor animal was almost totally lame and had to be carried about by a pair of house elves whenever he needed to walk more than a few steps. In later years, Severus would look back on that old black dog with irony in his heart, not just because his best friend from childhood shared a moniker with the worst enemy of his teen years and beyond – not to mention a similar appearance when said enemy was in animagus form – but because he proved that, in the end, pure blood was no protection against weakness and rot after all. 

A point which his father also made terribly clear shortly thereafter, when he first fell victim to the illness that had so recently ended his life. 

"There you are, Severus," came his mother's worried voice from the doorway. The echo of voices from the next room pressed in on him as she crossed the room and knelt down beside him. "I wondered where you got off to."

  
Severus looked up at his mother, tears still flowing from the corners of each eye. "Don't cry, my love," she said, stroking his back gently. "Father would have wanted you to be brave. You know how he felt about you crying." 

Her use of the past tense to describe his father somehow made the death seem infinitely more final than even the sight of the coffin had, and the child's sobs were renewed. His mother sat beside him and gathered him up in her arms, whispering soft words of comfort and rocking him gently as she had when he was a baby. 

"For the gods' sake, stop coddling the boy, Avis," a sharp voice reprimanded from the doorway, and peeking over his mother's shoulder he saw the slim form of Benjamin Ash advancing toward them. 

Benjamin had been Dunstan's closest friend since their days together at Hogwarts, though Severus never quite understood why. The two men were polar opposites in nearly every respect -- Benjamin was handsome, rich and flamboyant of dress and expression, while Dunstan was plain, financially insecure and rather more on the reserved side. And while Dunstan was strict and his orders never questioned in his household, Benjamin was downright cruel. Severus had heard his parents talking about Benjamin's cruel streak many times over the years, telling stories of his vicious tongue and tendency to strike those he considered inferior to himself – which apparently included just about everyone, from what Severus could glean – when they disagreed with him. 

When Benjamin's wife died a few years earlier, leaving him alone with their daughter Marinall, rumors circulated that he'd had her killed because he was involved with another woman. "Benjamin is a hard man but not so hard that he could do that," Dunstan dismissed the stories when those brave enough to do so came forward to solicit his opinion on the matter. "He would never do anything that would bring harm to a member of his family, least of all something which would have such a profound impact on Marinall." For Benjamin did have one characteristic that went a long way toward redeeming him in the eyes of those who would have otherwise written him off as totally heartless, and that was his devotion to family. Especially his daughter, who at the age of 14 was now five years older than Severus. Marinall was Benjamin's biggest weakness and the only thing in his life he treated with the love and respect it deserved. In Benjamin's eyes, the sun rose and set on his only daughter, and she could do no wrong.

By way of their longstanding friendship, Dunstan had become like family to Benjamin – and by extension, Avis and Severus as well – and he treated them less harshly than most of the other people around him. But this still wasn't saying much, and Severus had never quite warmed to the wiry man with the bushy moustache. He hated the nasty way Benjamin spoke to the servants and the violent way he gesticulated whenever he got into an argument with someone – which seemed to be nearly every time he started a conversation. And Marinall never struck him as anything more than a stuck-up little brat who had only to bat her eyes at her father and whatever she desired was hers. 

The final month of Dunstan's long illness was particularly difficult for the entire household, not just because of the chilling anticipation of the loss of its master but because Benjamin and Marinall had come to reside there. Ostensibly, Benjamin was there to comfort Dunstan in his last days and be there for Avis when he finally passed, but in reality the man did little more than create even more work for his already overburdened mother. Severus thought glumly that there would be at least one positive result of Dunstan's death – Benjamin and Marinall were sure to be leaving soon to return to their family estate near Paris. 

Severus cringed as Benjamin crossed the room to where he and his mother sat huddled together. "Show a modicum of pride, boy," the dark man chastised, leaning down to pry him out of Avis's arms. When the child resisted, Benjamin wrenched the two apart and pulled Avis to her feet. "Come. The guests are leaving. You have responsibilities as hostess."

Avis allowed Benjamin to steer her away from her grieving son and out the door into the foyer. Severus could hear voices murmuring good-byes and the soft sound of mourners bussing his mother on the cheek as they took their leave. He buried his face in Sirius's soft fur again, suddenly dreading being alone in the huge, quiet house as much as he had welcomed the idea just a few minutes earlier. 

"Avis, if there's anything you need, I do hope you will let us know," a loud voice boomed in the foyer. 

"I will, Diablo," his mother responded softly. "And thank you for coming today."

"It was the least we could do. Dunstan was a good friend. We'll miss him dearly. Where's Severus? Lucius would like to say goodbye, wouldn't you, boy?"

"He's in the sitting room," Avis said. "Why don't you go on in, dear? I'm sure he'd be happy to see you." Severus grimaced. The last thing he needed right now was to have that stupid git Lucius Malfoy encroaching on his privacy. "My, he's getting big, Diablo. Starts Hogwarts in the fall, doesn't he?"

Severus heard the other boy's steps padding across the room but did not look up. "We're leaving," Lucius said gruffly. It was patently obvious he had as little interest in speaking to Severus as the younger boy did in being spoken to. 

"Good riddance," came the surly reply. 

Malfoy squatted beside him in a hideous parody of his mother's earlier comforting stance. "Are you crying?" There was an incredulous tone in his voice. He tugged at the back of Severus's robes, trying to pull his face clear of the dog's flank, but Severus shrugged him off violently. 

"Piss off, Malfoy," he hissed, and the older boy chuckled and stood up. 

"Gods, you're such a baby," Lucius sneered. And then the room was empty again, and the house grew heavy with the absence of his father. His chest ached. His mouth was dry and tasted of something sour. His stomach felt full of lead, and his eyes burned. 

But he did not cry again.

***

Hermione found tears on her own cheeks when she came back to herself after reliving this memory with him. "I'm sorry, Severus," she said softly, tasting the salt on her lips. "Why did everyone have to make it so hard for you?"

He sighed and turned away, the sight of her tears making him uncomfortable. "That's the way it is in Slytherin families, Hermione. Weakness is despised more than almost anything else. I was conditioned from a very young age to act powerful until I become powerful." 

He looked at her again and cupped her cheek, smoothing away a tear track with the pad of his thumb. "I have not cried again since that night." 

And the Gryffindor, under no such constraint, cried for them both. 

A/N: Thanks SO MUCH to all who have reviewed and emailed me to express their interest in seeing this story continued. The feedback means everything to me! I hope it lives up to your expectations. 


	8. Chapter 8

__

See disclaimers on Chapter 1

A/N: Please note that this chapter contains elements of both spousal and child abuse. If you are easily bothered by such things, you might want to pass this one by. 

Chapter 8

Hermione awoke the next morning with the bitter taste of Snape's grief still fresh on her tongue. The night had not been a restful one – there were too many images to process, too much raw emotion to churn through, and true to her nature she spent entirely too much time thinking about it. When she finally did manage to shut her brain down far enough to fall into a troubled sleep, she was plagued by dreams. First, a nightmare about her own father dying. And then a strange, sad dream of Snape, his body stiff with the effort not to weep as he struggled to tell her… something… for which he could not find the words. Just as it seemed he was finally able to give voice to his thoughts and was about to pour his heart out to her, she woke up. 

She was heavy with his emotion and spent much of the morning simmering with low-grade resentment over the way he had been treated, even though surely to him the events she had witnessed the night before were ancient history. How many times had she heard people scoff at how cold and unfeeling he was? Amazing how even so superficial a scratch below the surface revealed just how wrong that assumption was. The man boiled with feeling as violently as any potion that had ever been prepared in his class, would have overflowed with it like one of Neville's cauldrons if not for the relentless death grip he kept over it. 

"Are you all right, dear?" Minerva asked later that morning, her face a mask of concern. The two women were seated in her office for their usual morning meeting, a stack of books on the desk between them. "You don't look at all well this morning."

Hermione smiled weakly. "I'm fine," she replied. She imagined she must look a fright. Lack of sleep always shadowed her face with heavy bags under the eyes, and on this morning in particular the bags felt big enough for a family of four to pack comfortably for an extended vacation. For a moment she considered telling the older woman what was happening to her, unburdening herself in the hopes of receiving a bit of encouragement. But she quickly realized it would be a betrayal of Snape's trust to do so and decided to keep it to herself. "I just didn't sleep well last night is all."

"Well then we won't do anything too taxing today," McGonagall said, and Hermione was relieved that she did not ask any further questions. She gestured toward the books on the desk in front of her. "These are a few of this year's newly published Transfiguration texts. I'd like you to review them and make a recommendation as to which is best for the third-year classes based on the coursework we discussed last week." 

Hermione gratefully scooped up the pile of books. A few days spent in reading low-level textbooks sounded like the perfect escape right now, especially after over a week of reading the (very dry) educational psychology books Minerva had assigned earlier. Returning to her own office, she dutifully set all other thoughts aside and applied herself to her task. 

It was not until much later in the day that the memory of Snape's reaction to their dance at the Yule Ball returned to her. She had been so preoccupied by his child self's display of grief that the impression of his adult self's display of happiness had been driven from her mind. _Cleverly done, Severus,_ she thought wryly, mentally awarding points to Slytherin. No doubt that was precisely what he had planned. _You knew just how to divert me from exploring _that_ bit of intrigue any further, didn't you?_

The thought of precisely what might have been going on in his mind that December evening was a distracting one, and she soon found she could no longer concentrate. After re-reading the same paragraph three times without absorbing a single word, she recognized it as a lost cause and shut the book. A quick glance at the clock told her it was close to the dinner hour, but she was not the least bit hungry. The room suddenly felt very confining. Some fresh air was in order. 

Late afternoon was giving way to early evening as she stepped outside. It was a beautiful July day for this part of the world and she breathed the warm air deeply, gratefully clearing the musty smell of the castle from her lungs. The lake was calling to her and she answered it, circling it twice before eventually sitting cross-legged on one of the carved benches on its eastern bank. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, inviting the sun to caress her throat as she allowed her mind to wander, once again, to the events of the previous evening.

Sometime later – fifteen minutes? An hour? She had no idea, so lost in her daydreams was she – a shadow fell across her face. She'd heard no footsteps approaching, had no warning at all that someone was nearby, but as soon as the cool darkness kissed her neck she knew who was there. Without opening her eyes she said, "I was thinking about you. Did you know?"

"No," came his response. "But given your overly analytical nature I can't say I'm surprised." 

She smiled and opened her eyes, tilting her head forward so she could level her gaze on his face. His expression was stern but his dark eyes sparkled in the fading light. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she said lightly, tapping the empty seat on the bench next to her. "Will you sit with me?"

He nodded briefly, gathering his robes about him before folding his long body down onto the hard seat. They sat together in silence for a long while, watching the wind carve ripples in the surface of the lake.

"Do you know how to skip stones?" she asked suddenly, surprising both of them with the question.

He glanced up at her with a frown. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, unclench a bit and try it. It's fun!" She knelt and scratched in the dirt at the edge of the lake, digging up a few small rocks. Her first throw bounced along the surface of the water twice before dropping into the lake with a hollow _kerplunk_. The second managed just one hop before it also fell to the bottom. She turned and grinned at him sheepishly. "It's been a long time since I've done this," she explained. 

"You need flatter stones," he replied, getting to his feet. "And you're holding your arm wrong. Let me show you how to do it properly." He bent over and retrieved a stone of his own, tossing it gracefully out over the water. To her amazement, it skipped five times before disappearing into the depths. 

She shook her head and laughed. "Wonders never cease," she said, throwing another stone. It gave a rather half-hearted skid across the surface and sank. 

"No, no. Try it like this." He stepped up behind her and grasped her forearm, demonstrating the side arm motion he had so successfully employed. His long fingers were warm against her bare skin and the movement of his pectorals across her upper back was a tantalizing sensation. She shivered. _Bugger the stones,_ she thought. _The lessons are wonderful._

She tried again – with only marginally better success – and they spent the next few minutes peppering the water with rocks. Hermione was nearly breathless with laughter by the time they finished. 

"I win," Snape declared, clapping the dirt from his hands. 

"You git," she replied amiably, collapsing back down into her seat. "You're impossible." 

"So I've been told." He rejoined her on the bench with just the slightest hint of a smile on his face. On impulse, she reached for his hand and drew it to her lips. Their eyes met as she lightly kissed the tip of each finger. 

"What happened after your father's funeral?" she asked softly, curling her fingers around his and pressing their joined hands to her heart. 

He sighed and turned his head to look out over the water once again. "Rather a lot, really."

"Will you show me?" 

He nodded, squeezing her hand firmly by way of reply. 

***

__

Benjamin was yelling again. 

It was the third night in a row Severus had been awakened by the angry sounds coming from his mother's bedroom. He could never quite make out exactly what Benjamin was saying – the wall between the two rooms was thick, and more likely than not one of them had invoked a charm to keep the worst of their row from reaching his ears – but there was no doubt about the tone of Benjamin's voice. He was furious. 

Severus cringed and curled the pillow tightly around his head, trying to muffle the sounds even further. If the pattern of the previous two nights held true, the hollering would be followed in short order by a silence punctuated with his mother's sobs, and then by the rhythmic thumping of his parent's bed as the headboard banged against his bedroom wall. Slowly at first, then gaining speed and force for what seemed an eternity before it finally ended. That was the worst part. He may have only been nine years old, but he was a precocious child. He knew exactly what that thumping was all about. 

Benjamin was fucking his mother. They were together, in the very bed where his father had lain ill for all those years, where he had died just over a week ago, and they were fucking. "Shagging," his cousin Alistair liked to call it, Alistair who had explained the entire process to Severus in horrific detail one hot, hot day the previous summer, stabbing the index finger of one hand through a ring made by the thumb and index finger of the other by way of demonstration. 

"It feels bloody wonderful," Alistair assured him, apparently delighted with the expression of wonder, disbelief and – yes, more than a bit of disgust – crossing his younger cousin's face. 

"You've tried it, then?" Severus asked incredulously. The whole thing seemed a bit farfetched to him. He certainly couldn't imagine his parents doing it, and if what Alistair said was true they'd have to have done it at least once in order for him to be walking about. 

"Well… no," Alistair confessed, his cocky smile fading a bit. "Not with someone else, at any rate. But I've had a wank, haven't I? And that was bloody amazing by itself. I imagine it feels a hundred times better when you stick it up some nice wet twat." 

Was that all Avis had become? He'd never heard his parents going at it like this, not once. Perhaps they never did it with such vigor as Benjamin was now displaying. Or perhaps his father had just been too ill. Whatever the reason, Severus was grateful that he'd been spared the ordeal of becoming a silent witness to his parents' physical relationship. It seemed somehow wrong – not to mention disrespectful – for Benjamin and Avis to be behaving this way now, with Dunstan hardly cold in his grave. How he wished Benjamin would just go back to Paris, get the fuck out of their house and leave his poor mother alone. 

One final, particularly loud whack! _sounded against the wall, and then there was blessed silence. It was over for another night. Severus kept the pillow wrapped around his head for a while longer, just in case, but heard nothing more. He fell asleep still clutching it loosely around his ears. _

***

The nuthatches woke him the next morning. There was a nest of hatchlings in the tree just outside his bedroom window, and for weeks now he had been awakened each morning by their high-pitched squeaks. It was oddly comforting to hear them out there, knowing that within a few minutes he would hear the answering chirps of their mother as she arrived with their breakfast. 

As usual, he was sprawled horizontally across his bed on his stomach, the duvet and one of his pillows on the floor in a heap and the sheets in a tangled mess around his legs. He had always been a restless sleeper – in fact, Avis used to tease him that she wasn't sure how he could ever awaken feeling the least bit rested, considering the manner in which he fought his way through every night. That was back in the days before Dunstan's illness had worsened to the point where every bit of light seemed to fade from his mother's eyes. 

She didn't tease him anymore. 

The act of thinking about his mother seemed to summon her, as a moment later his bedroom door swung slowly open and Avis stepped into the room. "Severus?" she called softly. "Are you awake?"

He considered feigning sleep, embarrassed and angry with her for unknowingly opening his eyes to her nocturnal activities. But the game ended quickly as she sat down on the edge of the bed and placed her hand lightly on the small of his back. "Severus?" she said again, and he was forced to roll over.   


Her cheekbone was striped with a long, purplish bruise extending nearly from her nose to her hairline. It was still red and puffy along its edges. He sat up quickly and scrambled away from her until his back hit the wall behind him. "Mum! What happened?" he cried, alarmed. 

"What?" she replied evasively, her back stiffening. 

"Your face!" he said, trailing his fingertips along his own cheek. "You've got a nasty bruise just there." 

Her fingers fluttered to the spot and touched it gingerly. "Oh, have I?" she said, turning away slightly. "I didn't realize it was bruised… I – I fell last night, that's all."

"Are you all right? Does it hurt?"

She tried to smile, but the upward tug on her obviously sore cheek muscles twisted it into a grimace. "No. I'm fine."

She was lying. He knew she was lying but didn't pause to analyze why. In the selfish manner of nine-year old children everywhere, he dismissed the insignificant problems of the adult world and plunged headlong into an issue of vastly greater importance, at least from his point of view. 

"Mum, when is Benjamin leaving?"

Avis sighed and clutched one of his hands. "That's what I've come to talk to you about, Severus. He's not leaving. He and I are to be married."

He could feel the color draining from his face as his mother studied him. A hard knot was forming in his stomach. "Married?" he whispered. 

"Yes. At Christmas time." She stroked the back of his hand comfortingly. "I know it's a bit of a shock, Severus, but Benjamin and I have talked it over and decided it's for the best." 

Talked, Mum? Or argued? _he thought, remembering the shouting and crying he'd heard the past few nights. _And then sealed the bargain with a fast shag? 

"I hate him," he hissed violently, jerking his hand from his mother's grasp. "I don't *want* you to marry him!"

Avis's face paled. The bedroom door was still ajar and she quickly flicked her hand at it until it clicked shut. "You mustn't say such things, Severus," she said nervously. "You've no reason for hating Benjamin. He… has been very good to us." She reached out to him again but stopped in mid-gesture as he folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "I know you're still upset about Father's death. You'll feel differently about all this by the time the wedding comes 'round, I promise." 

He said nothing. Avis regarded him helplessly for a moment, then stood and started toward the door. "Come down to breakfast, love," she said over her shoulder. 

Severus threw himself down on the bed and pulled the sheet up over his head. "I'm not hungry," he snapped. 

A moment later, the cry of the baby nuthatches was the only sound left in the room. They were still hungry – apparently their mother had let them _down, as well. _

***

That Fall passed by in a blur. Marinall returned to France to continue at Beauxbatons, and in her absence Benjamin became very nearly unbearable. Severus wasn't sure if it was because Benjamin missed the girl or if he simply felt freer to be himself now that he need not worry what his daughter might think, but he did not have a kind word to say to anybody these days. He seemed to have only two modes of communication – these being a belligerent grunt and an angry roar – and neither visitors to nor residents of the household went long without suffering one or the other. If not both. 

Severus quickly learned to stay out of Benjamin's way. He emerged from his room only at mealtimes, and even then just long enough to bolt his food and leave the table before Benjamin could finish eating and turn his attention to the boy. He spent the rest of his time reading or sleeping in an attempt to escape both the depression which consumed him in the wake of his father's death and the towering resentment he harbored about the upcoming nuptials. 

Avis surely saw that her son with withdrawing but could offer him no solace, frantic as she was with the wedding plans. It was shaping up to be quite a large affair. Both Avis and Benjamin came from venerable wizarding families, and the number of their relatives alone was staggering. No one was overlooked for fear of giving offense, not even those whom the bride and groom had not seen for years. Add to that their many friends and business associates, and the guest list topped out at more than 300 people. 

For weeks, the air was thick with owls delivering invitations and returning RSVPs. The wedding was to be held at Snape Manor, and as very little attention had been paid to the house during Dunstan's illness there was a great deal of work to be done in preparation. And Benjamin's demands for perfection down to the smallest detail added a great deal more weight to the yoke already on Avis's shoulders. The tension was having strange effects on her. She grew distant and seemed very distracted. Worse, cuts and bruises showed up on her face and arms with increasing regularity – the result, she assured Severus, of clumsiness brought on by fatigue and stress. 

The day of the wedding finally arrived, and the old house nearly groaned with its burden of visitors. Severus stood next to his mother and looked at his feet as she spoke the words that bound her to Benjamin until death. The assembly burst into applause as the newlyweds kissed, and he glanced up in time to see an expression of disgust flit across Marinall's face. Apparently, she felt the same way about the whole mess that he did, and inexplicably this made him angry. She was certainly getting the better end of this particular bargain, to have Avis as her new mother! 

The reception was unbearable. As was customary, the youngsters sat together at the feast, and he was forced to listen to Lucius Malfoy describe his exploits at Hogwarts in excruciating detail. You'd think he'd invented Quidditch, to hear him talk about the successes of the Slytherin team that term, and GODS if he said one more thing about how popular he was Severus was going to vomit. Marinall was no better, prattling on about the superiority of Beauxbatons over Hogwarts until Severus thought – hoped? – that the two would come to blows. He hated these people. He picked at his food listlessly, wanting nothing more than to turn the clock back a few years and have his family back, whole and real and unblemished by death. 

He ate very little and slipped away from the table at the earliest opportunity, heading for the sanctuary of his room. He turned the corner and entered the empty hallway leading to the staircase, grateful to have gotten away unobserved. But before he could make his way up the steps, Benjamin's voice stopped him. 

"Where do you think you're going, boy?" his stepfather asked coldly. 

"Just heading to the loo," he lied. 

Benjamin regarded him with narrowed eyes. "I see. Don't be long. The photographer wants to take some snaps of the family in a few minutes."

Ugh! Photographs! Every photo that had ever been taken of him was unflattering. He hated having his picture taken, hated looking at his face with its overly large nose and crooked teeth. And the idea of standing next to this man and trying to "smile for the camera" was too much to bear just then. 

"I don't *want* to have my picture taken," he pouted, and turned to run up the stairs. But before he got to the third step Benjamin grabbed him from behind, wrenching his arm up across his back so hard it felt as though it were being torn from its socket. 

"Don't cause trouble today, boy," he hissed in Severus's ear. He tugged on the child's arm harder, causing tears to spring up in his eyes from the pain. "I don't *care* what you want." And then he released his grip and turned on his heel, stalking away without looking back. 

Severus posed for the photographs. He stayed close to his mother throughout the ordeal and did not look at Benjamin. Nor did he smile. His shoulder hurt and his heart ached and he was tired and angry and sad. And all of these emotions were captured forever in pictures that would be placed on the mantelpiece in the sitting room, reminding him of the pain he'd suffered at Benjamin's hand every time he looked at them. As soon as the photographer was finished Severus escaped again, desperate for some time alone to nurse his arm and distance himself from Benjamin's cruelty. 

He knew better than to go back to his room. That would be the first place they would look once they realized he'd gone missing. No, he would go instead to his favorite place in the old house: his father's study. 

The room was filled with reminders of Dunstan – his pipe stand, his book collection, a few awards from his days at Hogwarts, the chair with the worn upholstery where he spent so many hours sitting in front of the fire. The room also housed Dunstan's small art collection. Over the years of his illness, he had been forced to sell off several of the more valuable pieces to keep house and home together, but many of the smaller sculptures and paintings remained. Severus did not go into this room very much anymore because it brought back too many bittersweet memories. But on this day he needed to be there.

Sirius lifted his head and thumped his tail on the carpet when his young master entered the room. The dog had been banished to this room for the day to keep him out from underfoot. Severus stayed there for a long time, curled up in his father's chair, absentmindedly stroking the animal's side with his foot. He had nearly fallen into a light sleep when he heard voices in the hallway, heading this way. Startled, he leapt from his seat and hid behind the floor length draperies that covered one set of windows. 

The door opened and two women entered. He recognized one of the voices as belonging to Lucinda Malfoy, Lucius's mother. The other voice was unfamiliar to him. 

"Dunstan used to have the most delicious collection of paintings, darling," Lucinda drawled to her unknown companion. "Here, look at this one. An original Sweeney, if I'm not mistaken."

"Lovely," the other woman replied. "Such a shame to keep it buried in this horrid old house. It should be on display somewhere." 

Severus bristled. How dare the stupid cow talk about his home like that?

Lucinda sighed. "Quite. This used to be such a lovely estate, too. Poor Avis. Well, now that she's married Benjamin, perhaps she'll fix the place up a bit." 

"He's frightfully rich, isn't he," Lucinda's companion whispered, as though the shameful subject of money was too, too vulgar to discuss in louder tones. 

"Oh my, yes! Diablo's being doing business with him for years. He's absolutely rolling in it. She's set for life!"

"Well, that's something, at least. I think it's lovely that he's decided to look after Avis and Severus now that Dunstan's gone."

"Oh, it's not just that, my dear. She owes it to him! I mean, he did support the family all those years while Dunstan was sick, didn't he?" 

Severus's blood ran cold. It had never occurred to him before to wonder how they had continued to live such a comfortable lifestyle after his father's illness had forced the closure of the family Potions business. His stomach roiled at the idea that they owed such a debt of gratitude to Benjamin that his mother had sold herself to him in marriage as repayment. 

"Are they going to sell the house?" the mystery woman asked.

"No, I don't believe so. Avis told me Dunstan left it to Severus in his will. I think they're planing to stay here until he's old enough to take possession of it. Oh! You must see the library, my dear. Dunstan had a few marvelous first editions…" 

The voices faded as the two women left the room, closing the door behind them. He waited a few moments to make sure he was alone before coming out of his hiding place. He felt nauseous. And worse, he was suddenly furious with his father for getting sick and relying on Benjamin to take care of his family. For putting them under obligation to a man who he knew to be brutal and vindictive. For dying and leaving Severus alone…

He sank to the floor beside Sirius and scratched him between the ears. "You watch, Siri," he said. "This is *my* house now, and I won't let him hurt me again. Someday I'm going to throw him out of here on his fat arse." 

It was a lovely fantasy, and for the first time that day, he smiled. 

More A/N: Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers. I'm thrilled that this story has found a home in your hearts! 

As you may have noticed, the emphasis of this piece has shifted a bit now and will be exploring Snape more in-depth for the next several chapters. But don't worry, Hermione is still a major character here and she will be moving back into the limelight as things progress. 

To CosmicCastaway: I won't be getting much into specific details about the war. But there will be a bit of Snape/Harry interaction toward the end of this story that will shed a bit of light on what happened, I promise. *tease, tease* 

To konny: "WIP" means this is a work in progress, as opposed to being a finished product. For the time being, anyway! 

To LadyDien: You'll find out more about Brigid in a few more chapters…. and that's all I'm going to say for now. Heh.

To tnf: Snape will eventually do the right thing by Hermione in bed, I promise. And no, Empathy as I've defined it only runs in one direction (i.e., from Snape to Hermione, in this case), and Empath and Object do not have to be love for the connection to happen. 

Keep the reviews coming! I live for them!


	9. Chapter 9

It occurs to me that I need to change my original disclaimer, which was written before this fic expanded into its current form. Everything you recognize from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Scholastic and whoever else lays claim to it. Any and all original characters are mine, as is the plot. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this small attempt at creativity. 

And now, back to the show!

Chapter 9

Moonlight reflecting on still water cannot help but draw the eye. To see two moons simultaneously, one free in the canopy of the sky and the other trapped in the aqueous clutches of the earth, is to imagine the unblinking eyes of some immense god wanting to keep watch on mortal activity but unwilling to make the commitment to walk among us. On nights such as this, when the moon is very nearly full, the god's scrutiny seems particularly intense. Nothing can escape the notice of those wide, white pupils. 

Snape stood near the edge of the lake, mesmerized by the moonlight echoing on its surface and wondering if that god was somehow angry with him. It hurt, this re-opening of old wounds. He had avoided dredging up the memories of his childhood for such a long time, determined to live in the here and now for as long as his dangerous existence allowed. But now… now he was being forced to re-examine the events of his past in what Albus believed to be a way of exorcising his demons. _Exercising them is more like it,_ he thought ruefully. He could only hope that their workout would not strengthen them to such a degree that he could not someday beat them back into submission if necessary. 

And what of Hermione? a small voice in his head nagged. _If push comes to shove, will she be able to beat them back, as well?_

He frowned, knowing that her fascination with his life was sweeping her closer to perilous waters with each Empathetic exchange. The wise thing to do would be to stop this now, before she became entangled any further, and let the demons go back to sleep. Tell her that since the fact of her Empathy was now firmly established there was no need to go on with this dubious "experiment." Or, perhaps, he could Obliviate her, erasing all memories of their contacts since the Yule Ball. The charm would be difficult to perform because of the extended period of time over which the events had transpired, but it was doable. Once everything was forgotten, he would simply have to avoid all further physical contact with her so she never again learned of her ability to experience his past. 

His chest began to ache at the very idea. No. It was intolerable. Now that he had experienced the feeling of being close to her, the taste of her lips, the sweet satisfaction of being so totally understood… he couldn't give that up. It was selfish, yes, but hadn't he earned the right to be selfish for once? He'd risked everything – _everything_ – in the fight against Voldemort, and come out of it with no recognition of his efforts from anyone but Albus and Potter. And even they did not realize the full magnitude of his sacrifices. He was not fully prepared to acknowledge the true extent of his feelings for Hermione yet, not even to himself, but he knew he felt good when he was with her. That was enough for now. He would simply deny her access to the pieces of his life that had the most potential to endanger her, and depend on her Gryffindor strength of character to help her deal with the rest. The god with the moons for his eyes be damned. For once he would pursue that which was pleasant instead of that which was logical. 

On the bench behind him, Hermione stirred sleepily as she returned from wherever it was she had gone after he broke the contact between them. He turned around just as her eyes fluttered open, her face bathed in the moonlight. 

"All right, Severus?" Her voice seemed to come from a place very far away. 

He nodded. Typical of her to inquire after his welfare first, even though she was the one making the journey which warranted concern. "And you?"

"As good as I can be, under the circumstances," she replied. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, folding in upon herself before looking up at him. "Benjamin… he beat your mother, didn't he."

"Yes," he said quietly, sitting down beside her again. "Though I didn't realize it for a long time, she hid it so well. But one evening he slapped her at the dinner table, and I realized what lay behind all the stories about her 'clumsiness.'" 

"Did he beat you, as well?"

He looked away. "Yes. Occasionally. But he preferred to abuse me with magic."

"I don't understand."

He sighed. "Benjamin was the one who first taught me to duel. Only he did not teach me how to defend myself. I had to learn that part on my own. He used magic to break my bones, bash me against walls… he even blinded me once for a number of days until I managed to figure out the countercurse." He spoke matter-of-factly, as though he were merely reciting the ingredients for another of his potions, but the memory of it sickened him. He still had nightmares from time to time about stumbling around in the darkness. 

"My God…" she whispered, her face so pale in the moonlight that it very nearly glowed. 

He waved his hand dismissively as though it was a matter of small import. "It made me stronger," he said. _That's good, Severus, put a brave face on it._ "I knew a great deal of advanced magic before I even entered Hogwarts." 

"But didn't you mother ever try to help you?"

"No. She was too frightened of him. She even felt _grateful_ to him, told me again and again how much we _owed _him." He paused, a bitter taste suddenly rising in his mouth. "I hated her for that." 

It was the first time he'd ever admitted that, even to himself. Avis's fragility had cost them both dearly, and it was something he had never been able to forgive. As a child, it terrified him to watch her cower before his stepfather, meekly accepting his actions as he cut his violent swath through their lives. But as he aged, the fear turned to disgust. That was the root of his towering intolerance for weakness – it enraged him to see it in others, knowing what lay in store for them if they did not learn to tap their inner strength. It was also the primary reason he was so fiercely protective of the children placed in his care. They might have reason to fear his tongue, but they need never fear the back of his hand, nor the tip of his wand. It never occurred to him that the ripping apart of their egos might be just as painful to them as Benjamin's ripping apart of his body had been to him. 

She did not reply but leaned into him and put her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. After a few minutes of wordless communion, he realized she was shivering. The air had grown decidedly cool. "Come. Let's get back inside." Gently, he brushed her lips with his own. "Come to me tomorrow night and I will show you more."

They walked back to the castle in silence. 

***

The letter from Hogwarts arrived on his 11th birthday, and it was like getting a ticket out of Hell. Finally, he would get the chance to escape the nightmarish place his home had become in the two years since Benjamin and Avis married. Finally, he would be in a place where magic did not have to mean being forced to endure pain and humiliation. Finally, he would be able to see an upraised wand without feeling that sickening sense of panic in the pit of his stomach, without having to brace himself for the attack that was sure to follow. 

Finally.

He couldn't wait. He sent his response by return owl within an hour of receiving it. 

He began counting the days until the term started, crossing them off each night at bedtime on a small calendar secreted under his mattress. He got a brief taste of paradise in the middle of August when Avis took him to London for an entire weekend, just the two of them, to purchase his school supplies in Diagon Alley. Their shopping done, they sat together in the outdoor café at Fortescue's, sharing an enormous banana split while she regaled him with stories of her days at Hogwarts. She was happier that weekend than she had been for years, and the sound of her laughter was like music to his ears after not hearing it for so long. Obviously, she was as relieved to be away from Snape Manor and all its associated negativity as he was. Returning home after that sweet bit of freedom was a bitter pill to swallow, indeed.

At last, the momentous day came when they took him to King's Cross to catch the Hogwart's Express. He scrambled onto the train without looking back and sat in a compartment on the side opposite the platform so he would not have to wave goodbye. A heavy sigh of relief rushed out of his lungs as the train pulled out of the station. He had nearly four months before he would have to deal with them again. Four long, beautiful months. What bliss!

His first view of Hogwarts was awe-inspiring. It was already dark by the time the enormous, bearded groundskeeper led the first-year students to the small fleet of boats, but the dark silhouette of the castle was still clearly visible high above on the hillside. "You're here at last, I've been waiting for you," it seemed to call to him, its cheerfully lit windows beckoning to him from across the lake. He fell in love with it on the spot, fervently wishing he could spend the rest of his days there. 

The Sorting Hat pronounced him a "SLYTHERIN!" almost before Professor MacDougall – no, that wasn't right, her name was McGonagall, not MacDougall – had it fully settled on his head. What a relief. He had desperately wanted to be in Dunstan's House but feared he might be sorted into Ravenclaw like his mother, instead. Apparently, he was not the only one who thought so, either. When the applause died down and he went to join his Housemates at the Slytherin table, Lucius Malfoy was the first one to address him. 

"I didn't think you had it in you, Snape," the older boy sneered. 

Severus ignored him. He was here, away from Benjamin, and he was officially a Slytherin. Things were finally going his way, and he wasn't going to let anyone_ spoil it for him. Least of all a stupid prat like Lucius Malfoy. _

The headmaster, a kindly-looking wizard with a waist-length beard and half-moon spectacles, stood when the Sorting was finished. "Welcome back!" he proclaimed, spreading his arms as though he were embracing the entire room. "Before the feast begins, I have an announcement. You older students will notice that a large willow tree has been newly planted on the school grounds. I would advise all of you not to venture too close to this willow, as it has a rather nasty temper. And now, tuck in!"

The old man clapped his hands twice, and the platters on the tables before them filled with great piles of food. For the first time in months Severus found a real appetite. He attacked the meal with gusto, leaving the table with his stomach full nearly to the point of discomfort. He sighed contentedly as he lay in his bed later that night, rubbing his cheek against the freshly starched linen pillowcase. 

This was heavenly. He had finally come home. 

***

The first part of the term passed uneventfully. Severus got on well with most of the other first-year Slytherins, though there was no one he could truthfully consider a real friend. But he was enjoying his classes and his marks were good. Early on, he showed an exceptional ability with Potions – apparently, Dunstan's talent with a cauldron had been passed down to his only child – and Professor Eldridge, the grizzled old Potions professor, often singled out his achievements in class. His other classes were interesting, as well. The professors were excellent (well, except for Professor Binns, that is – his classes provided most of the students with little more than a chance to catch up on their sleep), and he soaked up the knowledge like a sponge.

All things considered, he was happier than he had been for years. 

  
There were only two flies in the ointment. The first was a group of obnoxiously cocky Gryffindor boys that got on his nerves constantly. Never one to make friends easily himself, Severus had always been jealous of those who seemed to forge bonds effortlessly. And these four – James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew – had fallen into a comfortable camaraderie almost from the moment the Sorting Ceremony had ended. Not only that, they were incurable pranksters and seemed to get away with a great deal. Between Potter's boyish charm and Black's ability to think quickly on his feet, they managed to worm their way out of several messes that would have resulted in detentions and the loss of dozens of House points for most other students. Professor McGonagall was the only staff member who saw through their little act, and she alone disciplined them with anything approaching the severity Severus felt they deserved. 

The second was Lucius Malfoy. Now in his third year, he did not share any classes with Severus, but there was no avoiding him in the Slytherin common room. Lucius ignored Severus most of the time, which suited him just fine. But once in a while he would decide to taunt the younger boy, flaunting his wealth, or his prowess on the Quidditch pitch, or the influence of his father's friends in Severus's face. 

"My father's going to be a very important man someday soon, you just watch," Lucius would brag in the crowded common room. "He runs in some very high circles, he does. And he takes me with him, too, whenever I'm home from school." He would puff out his chest proudly when he said these things, preening in a most disgusting manner that made many of the other Slytherins present "ooh" and "aah" as though he had learned how to Apparate to the moon. "I'm being groomed for bigger things, myself." 

Severus was unimpressed. Lucius was nursing a pipe dream if he thought he was going to take a position of leadership in the wizarding community someday. He was not a particularly good student, barely managing passing marks and even those only because he had a large group of friends who were willing to let him copy their homework. Severus soon learned that Lucius was not a particularly good wizard, either, even for one so young. He watched the older Slytherin struggle with what he considered to be fairly easy magical tasks on a regular basis, secretly delighted to discover he could already outperform Lucius despite the other boy's two-year head start. Wisely, he kept this delicious knowledge to himself, preferring not to draw Malfoy's attention any more than he had to. 

The days passed quickly, and soon – too soon – Christmas was approaching once again. About a week before the holiday break was due to start, the Slytherin common room was crowded with students studying for the end-of-term exams. Severus was sitting near the fireplace, warming his perpetually cold feet near the flames and poring over his Potions textbook, when Lucius swept into the room. As usual, he was flanked by Nott and Slattery, the two most faithful of his band of lackeys. Malfoy's face was flushed with anger as he threw himself into a chair and dropped the egg he had been carrying in his hand into his lap.

"This is impossible," Malfoy raged. The lackeys nodded sympathetically. 

"What's wrong, Lucius?" Betsy Parkinson piped up. The petite second-year girl had a huge crush on Malfoy and rarely let an opportunity to chat him up pass her by. 

Lucius usually basked pompously in her admiration, but on this morning in particular he was too frustrated to appreciate it. "This," he spat, gesturing at the egg. "McGonagall wants us to Transfigure an egg into a chicken for the exam and it's bloody fucking impossible!" He pointed his wand at the egg and grunted a spell, but it stubbornly refused to transform. "Damn it!" 

Severus was unable to suppress a derisive snort. Malfoy's "skills" were pathetic. 

Malfoy's head snapped up at the sound and he fixed Severus with a steely glare. "Are you laughing at me, Snape?" he hissed in a dangerously low tone of voice. 

Keep quiet, keep quiet! _a little voice inside his head screamed, but Severus foolishly ignored it. "Yes, I am," he replied with as much as dignity as he could muster. _

Malfoy rose to his feet, the forgotten egg slipping from his lap and splattering to the floor. He crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides, hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "You think you could do any better, you ugly git?" 

Severus pushed his chair back and stood up, as well. He was tall for his age and the two boys stood nose to nose, glaring at each other with long-suppressed resentment. He did not speak, but the challenge in his mien was unmistakable. 

Without breaking the eye contact, Malfoy reached around behind him. "Give me your egg, Nott," he ordered. The entire common room was watching now.

Nott obeyed immediately. "Let's see you try it, then," Malfoy said, holding the egg out defiantly. 

Severus took the egg from Malfoy's outstretched palm and laid it on one of the fireside tables. Withdrawing his wand from the pocket of his robe, he pointed it at the egg and cast the necessary spell. A moment later, a small yellow chick appeared on the table where the egg had lain. A wave of nervous laughter swept across the room as the chick shook its head and took a few stumbling steps. 

Malfoy stared at it with his mouth hanging open in astonished disbelief until Severus Transfigured it back into its original form. Then his mouth snapped shut and twisted into a bellicose sneer. Before Severus could react, Lucius grabbed two fistfuls of the younger boy's robes and shoved him backwards, hard, until his back slammed up against the stone wall. "You miserable bastard," Malfoy seethed. "I'll teach you to show me up in front of the whole House."

Years of dueling with Benjamin had sharpened Severus's reflexes. Instinctively, he jammed his wand into Malfoy's stomach and shouted "Abigere!" _Malfoy flew back as though pushed by a powerful hand, landing in an undignified heap against the legs of the chair he had been sitting in earlier. His head snapped back the moment he landed and there was a loud _crrrack! _as his face smashed against the wooden frame. _

Bedlam ensued as half of the students in the common room rushed over to see if Lucius was all right. Severus stood rooted to his place against the wall, staring at the spectacle with a look of horrified fascination frozen on his face. He felt like he was going to be sick. He had just become everything he hated. It didn't matter a bit that he had only been defending himself… he had used magic to cause pain to another human being, and that made him no better than Benjamin. 

Malfoy staggered to his feet and the crowd of concerned onlookers parted before him as he pushed his way toward Severus. A thick rivulet of blood oozed from a gash over his left eye. "You'll pay for that, Snape," he said ominously, shoving his index finger in the stricken boy's face. "That's a promise."

"C'mon, Lucius," Betsy Parkinson broke in. "We need to get you to the hospital wing. That's a nasty cut you've got there." She took Malfoy's arm and dragged him through the crowd, obviously delighted to get the chance to play nursemaid to her fallen hero. Nott and Slattery closed ranks behind Malfoy and the four students headed toward the portrait hole. 

Snape watched them go, ignoring the stunned looks of those remaining in the common room. As the portrait swung shut, he gathered his robes around him and ducked through the crowd, hurrying up the steps to his dormitory as quickly as he could. You're in trouble now, Severus, _he thought, his breath huffing out in panicky bursts. _Dear Gods, you are in trouble now.

***

"Are you out of your mind?!" Avis shrieked. "What do you mean by getting into a fight with Lucius Malfoy?!"

Benjamin leaned back in his seat and calmly lit a cigar with the tip of his wand. He seemed to be enjoying Avis's uncharacteristically angry outburst. Beside him, Marinall sat picking daintily at a dish of lemon sherbet, a smug expression on her face. Severus had been home just over an hour, and the time had passed in tense silence until the family finished their Christmas Eve meal. Benjamin disliked talk at the table, and as usual Avis had deferred to his wishes and postponed the discussion with her son until Benjamin had eaten his fill. But now the words were pouring out of her like a rain-swollen river bursting through a dam. 

"I'm sorry, Mum," he muttered resentfully, stunned by the harshness of her tone. He could not recall ever seeing her so angry before.

"You're sorry," she repeated. "Sorry doesn't bloody cut it, Severus. Have you any idea how dangerous_ the Malfoys are? For the gods' sake, Severus, Diablo Malfoy practically _lives _in Voldemort's hip pocket!"_

Voldemort._ Severus felt his blood run cold as the meaning of Lucius's bragging about the "high circles" in which his father ran suddenly became terribly clear. He knew of Voldemort's reputation, of course. How could he not? Anyone paying even the most cursory amount of attention to _The Daily Prophet_ knew of the storm gathering around the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. Before his father's death, Severus had often heard his parents discussing the outrages Voldemort's followers inflicted upon Muggles and mudbloods in hushed, worried tones. He was the most powerful Dark wizard in close to a century. And now Severus had made the mistake of deliberately antagonizing the only son of a man who was almost surely one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. _

Small wonder that Avis was so angry. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the words out Marinall pushed her chair back from the table to allow a small calico kitten to jump into her lap. "Isn't she beautiful, Severus?" the teenager gushed, scooping the cat up into her arms and hugging it tightly against her breast. "Daddy got her for me for Christmas." She beamed at Benjamin, who returned her smile with the affectionate look he reserved for her alone. "Her name is Tabitha," she cooed, tickling the kitten under the chin. 

The sight of the kitten seemed to prick a pin through the balloon of Avis's anger, and the color drained from her face. The hair stood up on the back of Severus's neck when he noticed this abrupt shift in his mother's mood. 

  
"Where's Sirius?" he cried, an ominous sense of foreboding sweeping through him. 

Avis placed her hand gently on his. "Severus…" she began, "we…" 

"Sirius is gone," Benjamin cut in harshly. "I had him put down." 

The air whooshed out of his lungs in a sudden rush, and for a moment he felt dizzy enough to pass out. "Why?" he wailed. Hot tears sprang into his eyes, but he did not let them fall. Don't cry, don't cry_ he thought. _Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose it on top of everything else.

For Benjamin did look as though he was enjoying the boy's anguish. "Because you weren't here to take care of him and I didn't feel like being burdened with him any longer, that's why." 

"He was in a lot of pain, Severus," Avis added softly in a conciliatory tone. "You know that." 

"Besides, he was nipping at my little Tabitha," Marinall chimed in, and Severus knew immediately that was the real reason Benjamin had ordered Sirius's destruction. Marinall and her precious fucking kitten. It was not the first time Benjamin's devotion to his daughter had made him run rough-shod over the other people unfortunate enough to be part of his life. 

"Why didn't you just keep her in another room?" he demanded, his voice squeaking under the weight of his emotion. "He couldn't even move! If you just kept her away from him, everything would have been fine!"

Benjamin leaned in angrily. "Don't take that tone with Marinall, boy," he growled, fingering the hilt of his wand where it lay on the table at his right hand. "That dog was a menace. He had to go before someone got hurt."

A menace. Sweet, gentle, loving, lame_ Sirius – a menace. If he hadn't been so heartsick, he would have laughed in his stepfather's face. "You didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye," he said miserably. _

Avis glanced nervously from her son to her husband. "Severus, perhaps it would be best if you left the table," she stammered, fearful of the familiar murderous glint in Benjamin's eye. 

Severus stood up so suddenly that his chair flipped over behind him. "I hate you," he hissed. "I hate all of you." 

He stalked out of the room stiffly, halfway expecting Benjamin to hurl a curse at his retreating back before he got out the door. But the attack did not come. He wandered through the house, checking each room in the vain hope that it was all a lie and he would find Sirius plopped down in front of one of the fireplaces if he just looked long enough. Each empty room was another disappointment, another shot to the heart. His best friend – and the last link he had to the happier days of his childhood – was gone. 

"Happy Christmas, Severus," he whispered bitterly to himself, the tight ache in his chest making it difficult to breathe. "Happy bloody fucking Christmas." 

A/N: My thanks to orien for pointing out that something was missing from the end of the last chapter, thus helping me figure out how to write the opening of this chapter. That kind of constructive criticism is invaluable to an author. 

It's interesting to learn that my Snape is similar to characters in the Dragonlance books and _David Copperfield_…. considering that I've never read either of those. *grin* 

Thanks for the feedback, everyone!


	10. Chapter 10

See disclaimers on chapter 9.

A/N: This entire chapter is another of Snape's flashbacks. I decided not to use the italics this time as there is no need to distinguish between the flashbacks and the present day, and besides, I personally find italics difficult to read on the web sometimes. 

Chapter 10

Marinall found him several hours later, curled up in the winged armchair in his father's darkened study. He had retired there after completing his survey of the house, seeking what little comfort he could from the memories of his father that still lingered in this place despite the changes time had wrought since Dunstan's death. The room was almost completely different now. Avis had purchased all new furniture, and most of Dunstan's belongings were gone – only one of his favorite paintings and a few of the smaller sculptures remained. But there was still something about the atmosphere there that made it possible to imagine Dunstan had simply stepped into another room and would be returning again at any moment. 

When he heard the soft shushing of the door trailing along the carpet as it opened, he froze in place, unconsciously slipping into the game he had played as a young child – _if you sit very still, the monsters won't see you and they will leave you alone. _She was the last person he wanted to see right now. It infuriated him that she dared to intrude on his misery, especially in this place that he considered his exclusive territory. 

But the trick did not work. Her eyes were too sharp. "There you are, Severus," she said quietly in her faintly accented English. "I've been looking for you."

"Go away," he replied sullenly. "I don't have anything to say to you."

She crossed the room on small, silent feet. "I know," she sighed. "I don't want to intrude. It's just that… Severus, I – I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am about what happened to Sirius." 

Severus glanced up at her suspiciously. He had never quite been able to trust her since that day long ago when she accidentally smashed the mirror in his parents' bedroom and tried to lay the blame on him. Dunstan had been furious with him until he repaired the mirror and it told him who the true culprit was. Even then Severus had been punished because they were playing in the room without his father's permission – no chocolate frogs for two whole weeks! – while Marinall got nothing more than a stern warning "not to do that again."

But the expression on her face now was one of sincere contrition. "I never thought Daddy would do it," she said, her mouth tugging downward at the corners. "I would never have told him about Sirius nipping at Tabitha if I did." 

__

How could you not have guessed? he thought bitterly. It was completely in character for Benjamin to do what he had done. Was she really that blind to her father's sadistic nature? Did her removal to Beauxbatons mean she did not know how he had been tormenting Severus over the past few years? Or did she just not care? 

How fortunate she was never to have felt the brunt of her father's anger. For a moment Severus was willing to give up everything he owned just to know that feeling – that lack of fear, that promise of security, regardless of what he said or did. Why should she, through an accident of birth, be permitted to flourish while he, through an accident of friendship, was forced to endure? His gut twisted with the injustice of it. 

"Yeah, right," he replied, turning his head away. 

"No, I mean it." She crouched down next to his chair and placed one hand lightly on his forearm. "Listen, would you like me to ask Daddy to speak to Mr. Malfoy? Maybe he can get Lucius to leave you alone."

He looked at her again, lips curled into an incredulous sneer. "Oh, sure. I bet he'd love to do that for me."

"He would if I asked him to," she insisted, squeezing his arm to emphasize her words. 

That much was true. Benjamin would do anything to make Marinall happy. He had certainly proven that time and time again. And if anyone could call Lucius off, it was Diablo. Benjamin was one of Diablo's closest friends as well as his largest customer – surely, the elder Malfoy couldn't afford to ignore a request from such an important business contact. He felt a sudden glimmer of hope. What a relief it would be to return to Hogwarts without the specter of Lucius's vengeance hanging over his head. Everything would be all right again if Malfoy decided – or was told – to leave him alone.

A flicker of gratitude warmed his chest, and he very nearly smiled at his stepsister. Luckily, he caught himself before the desire translated itself to his lips. It wouldn't do to let her know how thankful he was for her offer. No, never that. Forgiveness had always been granted her far too easily in the past. This time she would have to earn it. 

"Do whatever you want," he grunted ungraciously, cutting his eyes toward her so she got the real meaning behind his words. 

She smiled. Message received and understood. "Done," she said as she stood up. "Consider it my Christmas gift to you." 

His spirits lifted a bit as the door clicked shut behind her. The unyielding reality of death still pulsed around him, but somehow it seemed to have lost some of its sting. For a moment he imagined he could hear the scratching of Dunstan's quill at the desk behind him, the hollow thunk of Sirius's tail on the hearth rug before him, and the illusion made him feel sadly content. They were still here. He was the one who would be leaving. The one who had already left.

Just a few more days and he would be back in paradise. His troubles were over. 

***

Lucius left him alone. 

In fact, all of Slytherin House did. Whatever shortcomings Lucius may have had as a wizard, he possessed one quality that Severus did not – charisma. Though his grades were too poor to allow for his elevation to the status of an "official" house leader, most of Slytherin was far more likely to follow his lead than that of any prefect. It was hardly surprising that when Lucius started ignoring Severus, the sheep were quick to fall into line behind him. His housemates talked around him in the Great Hall, talked over him in the classroom and talked across him in the common room, until he began to get the surreal feeling that he actually was not there. The only time this pattern varied was at the beginning of each new school year, when a few of the incoming crop of nervous first years would invariably try to engage Severus in conversation. But even these tentative attempts at friendship would be aborted once they wised up to the house pecking order. Slytherins are noted for their ambition, and everyone was betting that association with Lucius Malfoy would be far more advantageous in the long run than association with the odd, dark boy who never smiled.

Whether this was out of respect for Lucius himself or fear of those with whom his family was connected was unclear. Severus privately believed it had to be the latter, as he saw absolutely nothing in Malfoy himself that merited anything other than utter contempt. Still, Voldemort was swiftly gaining power, and the Malfoys' favor with the Dark Lord was well known among the clannish group of Slytherin families whose youngest members were now being educated at Hogwarts. The writing was on the wall in four-foot high, bright orange letters, and the pressure to befriend Lucius was sharp from parents on both sides of the fence. Those already within Voldemort's circle hoped to use the friendship to further their own positions, while those without prayed that such a connection would help them gain the Dark Lord's mercy if – the gods forbid! – the need for it should ever arise. 

In any case, his ongoing, unspoken feud with Lucius made life in the common room an uncomfortable ordeal for Severus. Being shunned was difficult enough; being whispered about behind the shield of open textbooks propped up on the table – or worse yet, being openly discussed without regard to his presence in the room – was intolerable. He tried to shrug it off and carry on as though none of it mattered, but he eventually became so sensitive to it that his stomach cramped with impotent anger whenever he saw two or more of his housemates with their heads together. Finally he decided the best course of action would be to remove himself from the situation altogether and do the majority of his studying in the library. It was a lonely existence, but eventually he grew accustomed to it, even began to enjoy it. He had always been something of a loner anyway, and the opportunity to spend vast stretches of uninterrupted time devoting himself to academia helped shape an exceptional student from one who might otherwise have only been above average.

He loved books. Loved to learn. Loved the feeling of being over his head when confronted with a new challenge and knowing that the only way out was through. He felt cheated when the answers came too easily, relishing the process of figuring something out almost as much as arriving at the correct solution. But his mastery of the difficult, while thrilling and surprising to his professors, only served to isolate Severus even further from his classmates. Now that he finally had something to feel superior about he grew arrogant in his successes, and his attitude did little to endear him to the students whose failures became fodder for his ongoing litany of contemptuous remarks. 

__

Dunderheads, the lot of them, Severus thought derisively. _With Malfoy at the head of the pack_. If this was the pool from which Voldemort was to draw his next generation of followers, the wizarding world was sure to be safe as houses for many years to come. An image of Lucius in Death Eater's robes, stumbling about with a broken wand shooting streams of impotent white sparks from its tip flashed through his mind, and he snorted into his book. Nope. Nothing to worry about there. 

***

The appeal of being alone with his beloved books began to wane when Severus came to the eye-opening realization that half the population of Hogwarts was comprised of members of the opposite sex. Hormones began to – quite literally – kick him in the balls during the summer between his third and fourth years, and when he returned to school in September he was suddenly aware that the corridors and classrooms were crawling with girls. How had he never noticed it before? The soft rustle of skirts beneath robes, the lilting timbre of feminine voices, the gentle swell of young breasts filling house sweaters that were larger now than a year ago… his head was turned in every direction as he drank in the thrilling changes his female classmates were undergoing. 

Most of them were still nothing more than gawky adolescents, graceless and self-conscious and struggling to come to grips with their burgeoning sexuality. But Severus was self-aware enough to recognize that he was no prize, either, and being surrounded by such a tantalizing array of almost-women distracted him from his studies to such an extent that Professor Eldridge kept him after class one day to ask if anything was wrong. Blushing furiously, he promised to try harder and willed himself back to his former study habits. Problem was, the thoughts he sublimated during the daytime forced their way out at night, and he frequently woke up bathed in sweat and wrapped in sticky sheets, the tendrils of an erotic dream still curled around his brain. It was especially frustrating to watch his classmates form romantic attachments – everyone seemed to be walking around in pairs these days! – and begin to experiment with the things he had been dreaming about, knowing the chances of doing so himself were slim to none. 

The caustic tongue with which he had been immolating his classmates was now coming back to haunt him. He had really grown quite nasty over the past few years, he had to admit to himself. It was such fun to watch their faces darken into glowers or flush red with anger and embarrassment when he flayed them with his words – even to see tears spring to the eyes of the more delicate ones – but it did make him rather the odd man out in the dating game. No one ever thought of him in anything close to a romantic way, and he retaliated for their indifference by becoming even more hateful, lacing his comments with liberal dollops of sarcasm on top of the malice. 

By the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts, the only girl willing to give him the time of day was his potions partner, a red-haired, emerald-eyed Gryffindor prefect called Lily Evans. She alone bore his insults with good humor, and since she turned out to be fairly adept at potion making, she alone also earned Severus's respect. She was the type of girl who could talk to anyone about anything with casual ease, and from the first time Severus tried to taunt her with a cutting remark she answered in kind, giving as good as she got. Their time together in class quickly escalated into a battle of witticisms until it became a sort of dysfunctional flirtation between them. Severus soon found himself spending a great deal of time thinking about her. He also shagged her senseless on a regular basis… though unfortunately, it was only in his head. She provided more than enough fuel to keep his masturbatory fires burning bright and hot, but he knew that was as close as he would ever get to her. She had been dating James Potter for over a year now. 

James fucking Potter. "Jims," Lily called him while they walked hand in hand from class to class, making Severus's throat tighten with envy and disgust. Star Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Top student. Obnoxious prat. And leader of the Feckless Four, as Severus had privately dubbed Potter and his band of low-life friends. 

The Four had gone out of their way to make Severus's life hell since their first year at Hogwarts. Thank the gods they had finally outgrown the childish habit of sticking their feet out whenever Severus walked by, hoping to trip him up, though last year's ongoing prank of magicking frog entrails and Mooncalf dung into his book bag, his bed and even onto his dinner plate was hardly better. Black, especially, had earned a special place in hell as far as Severus was concerned. Pettigrew and Lupin were almost bearable – Pettigrew was a harmless dolt and Lupin… well… there was definitely something not quite right about Lupin, but Severus sometimes thought that under different circumstances, the two of them might have become friends. 

But Black was a wanker of the first order. _The wrong Sirius is dead,_ Severus often thought as he watched Black laughing and talking with his friends. Black never missed an opportunity to humiliate Severus by making him the butt of a joke, and on the few occasions that he bested Severus academically, he crowed about it endlessly until the Slytherin's wand hand cramped with the denial of hexing the sodding bastard into oblivion. One incident in particular finally pushed Severus over the edge and set in motion a chain of events that solidified his hatred of the raven-haired Gryffindor for all time.

It was on a Tuesday morning late in their fourth year, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors met in the dungeon for their weekly potions lesson. As usual, Lily was already in the classroom when he arrived and he slid into place at the lab table next to her, tucking his book bag neatly under his chair. She looked particularly pretty that morning, her luxurious mane of red hair falling around her ears in a newly-fashioned cap of thick waves. 

"Nice hair, Evans," he sneered. "Did you comb it with an eggbeater this morning?" 

"And good morning to you, Severus," she replied good naturedly. "Why don't you try something new with your hair, too – like washing it?" 

He smothered a grin as Professor Eldridge strode to the front of the room and cleared his throat to begin the lesson. She really was great fun to be around. 

"Today we will be preparing a medicinal fungicide serum," Eldridge informed them. "You will find the recipe on page 258 in your textbooks. I will be coming around to your stations with vials of streeler venom. You should have the rest of the ingredients you need in your potion kits." 

The room filled with the sound of shuffling pages as the class opened their books to the specified page. Severus scanned the recipe quickly, noting with some satisfaction that it was a difficult preparation and would therefore be a worthwhile test of his skills. 

Professor Eldridge moved from table to table with a tray of stoppered glass vials, each filled with clear liquid. "Please wear your gloves while you are handling the venom," he instructed, thunking a vial down on the table in front of Potter and Black. "It will produce quite a bad burn if it comes into contact with your skin."

"Ah, finally something nasty to work with," Lily said under her breath. "That's just what you've been waiting for, eh Severus?"

"Nothing new," he replied. "I work with you every week, do I not?"

She bit back a laugh as the professor deposited the venom at their workstation. When he had swept past them to go onto the next pair, she licked the tip of her index finger and drew an invisible line in the air in front of her. "Score one for you," she whispered, grinning hugely. But Severus was too distracted at the sight of her pink, pointed tongue laving her fingertip to be overly pleased with his small victory. The image was sure to play a starring role in his daydreams for weeks to come.

They worked steadily for most of the period, carefully chopping roots and measuring powders. Severus worked meticulously, mesmerized as always by the sharp tap of metal knives on stone cutting boards, the soft _bloop_ of viscous liquids coming to a slow boil. He watched as Lily skillfully adjusted the flame under the cauldron until it licked the pewter underside at precisely the right height, then used a dropper to infuse five drops of the streeler venom into their serum. The smell of the potion was vile but Severus barely noticed, so enthralled was he by the magic taking shape under his hands. 

Eldridge leaned over their station and peered down into the cauldron. "Excellent work, Mr. Snape, Miss Evans," he intoned, wrinkling his nose in a combination of appreciation and disgust as the pungent wisps of steam curled up into his face. "Keep stirring that, now. You'll want to be sure it is heated evenly throughout." 

Lily and Severus dutifully took turns stirring the contents of their cauldron – three turns clockwise, three turns counterclockwise, wait exactly thirty seconds, repeat. When the potion turned a sickly shade of yellowish green, Severus doused the flames and quickly ladled the finished product into an opaque glass bottle, fitting the top with a cork stopper. One by one the teams around them were also finishing up their preparations, and the room came to life with sound and movement as students began walking their cauldrons and other tools to the gargoyle to scrub them clean, talking and joking as they worked. 

Severus was busily rearranging the contents of his potions kit when Black sidled up to their table. "All right, Lils?" the other boy asked. "How'd your potion turn out? I hope Snape didn't screw it up too badly."

Severus looked up to see Black grinning at him wickedly. The Gryffindor's forearms were still encased in his worn dragonhide gloves, and he held a vial of streeler venom in one hand. "Bugger off, Black," he snarled. His dislike of Black aside, any inference that his potion-making skills were less than stellar always infuriated him.

"Sirius," Lily said in a tone that clearly held a warning. "Leave us be, please."

Black held up one gloved hand in a mock gesture of conciliation. "Sorry, Lils," he replied. "Actually, I came over to ask your expert opinion on something, Snape."

Severus felt his eyes narrow in suspicion. This couldn't be good.

"Our potion didn't turn out quite right," Black continued, "and James thinks it might be because our venom has lost its potency. What do you think, Snape?" And with that, he quickly drew up a dropperful of the venom and squirted it directly into Severus's face.

It burned. Dear gods, how it burned! White-hot streaks of pain across his cheek and the bridge of his nose. It felt like it was boring its way through the skin and cartilage and eating into the bone itself. Severus gasped and covered his mouth and nose with his hands, sure that the skin was going to peel off in great blistering sheets any moment now. "You… you ruddy… bastard…" he spluttered, unable to form a complete thought. 

"Sirius!" Lily shrieked. "What the fuck are you doing?!" 

Black was nearly bent double with laughter. "Relax, Lils," he wheezed, barely able to choke out the words. "It's only hot water. Watch." He brought the vial to his lips and tipped the contents down his throat in a single gulp. 

Severus dropped his hands and jumped to his feet, humiliation and rage overcoming the rapidly fading bite of the hot liquid on his face. He could feel his pulse pounding in every part of his body. He wanted to pound Black's face into the table until the blood poured from his eye sockets. He wanted to snap the Gryffindor's spine in half like a twig. He wanted to do anything and everything he could to punish the miserable prick, to make him suffer. To make him HURT. 

He snatched his wand from its hiding place in the pocket of his robes and had it leveled between Black's eyes with a shaking hand when Professor Eldridge rushed up to the scene. "What's going on here?" the potions master demanded. 

"Just a prank, Professor," Black replied, mischievous grin still firmly in place even as he stared down the shaft of Snape's wand. "Severus and I were just having a bit of fun."

Eldridge looked back and forth between the two boys, assessing the situation. "I see," he said slowly. "Mr. Snape, put your wand away. You boys know better than to act up like this in my classroom. Ten points will be deducted from each of your houses. And don't let it happen again."

"Sorry, sir," Black responded, turning away and heading back toward his workstation.

"That's not fair, sir!" Lily cried. "Severus wasn't…."

  
But Eldridge cut her off. "Mind your own business, Miss Evans," he ordered. "This doesn't concern you." 

Severus's knees began to buckle with the shock of all that had occurred, and he shakily lowered himself into his chair again as Eldridge stalked off. "Are you all right, Severus?" Lily asked quietly, patting his shoulder uncertainly. 

He shrugged off the touch. "Leave me alone," he hissed. "You and your despicable friends can go straight to hell."

"I'm sorry," she whispered miserably just as the bell signaling the end of the period rang. "Sirius is a real arsehole." Her voice hardened. "He will be hearing from me about this, I promise you."

Severus watched as she gathered up her books and marched out of the room without pausing at the door to wait for the Four as she usually did. Black, Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew left together in a whispering, snickering knot, and he could hear their laughter echoing down the hallway as they walked on to their next class. 

Enough was enough. They had finally pushed him too far. They were always doing something to get into trouble, and it seemed no one had the guts to stand up to them and put a stop to it. No more. Severus resolved right then and there that he was going to keep a close eye on them – shadow their every move if necessary – until he had enough evidence of their wrongdoing to have them all expelled. They would pay for using him as their whipping boy. He would see to that. 

"Do you plan on daydreaming the rest of your day away, Mr. Snape?" Eldridge's voice cut through his thoughts. "I believe you have another class to go to?"

"Yes sir," Severus replied tightly through clenched teeth. He snatched his book bag from beneath his chair and stormed out of the dungeon.

The last laugh would be his, and it would be sweet. 

More A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Work has become really REALLY busy all of a sudden (as I am self-employed, this is a *good* thing), and I don't currently have a lot of free time to write. This chapter was written two or three paragraphs at a time over the course of two weeks. I promise I will update again as soon as I can!

And thanks again to all who have reviewed. It keeps me inspired. 


	11. Chapter 11

See disclaimers on chapter 9.

A/N:  This chapter goes back to the old format of present day happenings appearing in regular type and flashbacks appearing in italics.

Also, this chapter includes elements of underage sexual activity.  If this is going to bother you, please don't read any further. 

Chapter 11

The first time Hermione had encountered Sirius Black, she was terrified.   

At the time of that memorable encounter in the Shrieking Shack at the end of her third year, she thought he was a murderer, she knew he was a fugitive, and she believed he was about to kill her and her two best friends.  Sheer terror was the only possible emotion under the circumstances and Hermione thought her heart would implode under the weight of it, sparing Black the dubious inconvenience of having yet more innocent blood on his hands. 

As the evening unfolded, however, her fear became a sort of emotional animagus, transforming first into confusion (how could the preposterous story he and Professor Lupin were telling them about Scabbers possibly be true?), then to worry (what could she do to save this blameless man from the Dementor's Kiss?) and finally to relief as she saw Buckbeak fly off into the night sky with Sirius firmly clutching his feathered neck.  In her fourth year, when she, Ron and Harry had met up with Snuffles outside Hogsmeade and trailed him back to the cave he'd adopted for his hiding place, she had been overwhelmed with concern for Harry's thin, sickly-looking godfather.  And after the war, when Dumbledore had seen to it that Sirius's name was cleared and hired him to teach Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, she had whooped loudly with the joy of knowing that he was finally able to return to his rightful place in the wizarding world.  Somehow, he had managed to evoke the full gamut of her emotions in the four years she had known him, save one – she had never been angry with him.  

Until now.

In fact, the word "anger" was woefully inadequate to describe her current feelings toward Black.  She was absolutely furious with him, enraged at the callous way he had treated Snape.  At the callous way he had treated _her – for she had been there, not just as an observer, but as part of Severus when he relived Sirius's vicious little prank.  She could still feel the tingling stripe on her own cheek and nose where the hot water had bubbled across Snape's face, could vividly recall his rising panic at the thought that he had just been grievously burned, perhaps beyond repair.  But most importantly, she had tasted Snape's animosity and hatred toward his tormentor, had chewed it up and swallowed it, and now it was part of her, as well. _

She pounded on the piano keys savagely, playing the loudest and fastest pieces she knew in an attempt to work through her resentment.  She didn't want to be angry at Sirius.  It just didn't feel _right somehow, for he had never been anything but kind to her and her friends.  Until now, the clearest image of him in her mind had been the look on his face when Harry returned from the war, an expression of anguished worry mixed with jubilant pride, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he hugged the tired boy fiercely to his chest.  She found it hard to reconcile this perception of him with that of the cruelly playful teenager intent on making Snape the butt of yet another of his stupid practical jokes.  She was seeing Sirius with different eyes now – Snape's eyes – and he did not look good to her.  _

No.  To the converse, he had never looked worse.  And for once, even the frantic strains of music she hammered out did nothing to ease her pique.  Over an hour of playing until her fingers were sore did nothing to lighten her mood.  _In fact, it had just the opposite effect, she thought morosely as she finished playing and carefully examined her hands.  She was probably going to be sporting a nasty set of blisters by the following morning.  _

"Bravo!" cried a pair of baritone voices when the echo of the final chords faded, and she spun around on the bench, startled to find that she had an audience.  Sirius and Remus stood together just inside the doorway, smiling and clapping their hands in appreciation. _Funny how they always seem to be together, she thought offhandedly as her throat constricted with renewed anger at the sight of Black._

"That was wonderful, Hermione!" Remus exclaimed.  

"Thank you," she said quietly, rising to her feet and stepping around the bench.  She hoped that Sirius would remain silent.  She wasn't sure she'd be able to control her temper if he decided to speak to her.  

No such luck.  "Have you finished?" the animagus asked in a disappointed tone.  "I was hoping you'd play something else for us."  

"I've no time right now," she replied tightly.  "Must be going."   

"Sirius has had a letter from Harry this morning, Hermione," Remus informed her as she made to brush by them. 

"Yes, and it sounds like he's having a fabulous summer with the Weasleys," Sirius added.  "He's been working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and Fred and George are having an absolutely marvelous time corrupting him, by all accounts."  

"That's lovely," Hermione replied, training her eyes on the floor.  Her voice was trembling with suppressed emotion as she bit back the tongue lashing she longed to give him.  

Sirius glanced at her quizzically.   "Yes," he said, then cleared his throat.  "Well.  Anyway, he says the Weasleys are very excited about your visit to the Burrow.  Coming up soon, isn't it?"

"The end of August," she said.  She couldn't stand to be in the same room with him a moment longer.  "Excuse me, please.  I have a great deal of work to do."

The two men exchanged puzzled looks as she shouldered her way past them and marched out of the room.

****

The door to Snape's chambers was ajar when Hermione got there, a tiny crack that allowed only the thinnest shaft of muted firelight to escape into the corridor.  Anyone else who approached would have assumed that he had been careless about closing his door and did not wish to be disturbed, but Hermione knew that his leaving it open even such an small amount was an invitation for her to enter.  She pushed it open quietly, without knocking, then closed it firmly behind her.  

She and Snape had fallen into a comfortable pattern over the preceding few weeks.  They each went about their daily tasks as usual, she in the upper part of the castle and he down here in the dungeons, and their paths seldom crossed before the sun went down.  But each evening, they sought each other out.  Most nights they stayed together until it was quite late, talking, reliving his life or simply working side by side in the silence, but Hermione for one was not overtired by the late hours they kept.  Their Empathetic exchanges worked on her like the deepest of dreams, and she usually "awoke" from them feeling fully rested and often rejuvenated.

They did not appear to be affecting Snape quite so benignly, however, and the lack of sleep had obviously caught up with him.  He was sprawled out on the couch in his rooms when she entered, one forearm slung over his eyes to guard them from the firelight.  His robes were hung over the back of a chair, leaving him clad only in the work-wrinkled trousers, boots and long-sleeved shirt he had worn beneath.  The top few buttons of his shirt were open and his sleeves were rolled to mid-bicep, plainly exposing the Mark on his arm.  It was red and inflamed once again, and she guessed – correctly – that he had spent the better part of the afternoon in pain.  

He stirred sleepily when the door clicked shut, his spy's senses apparently still attuned to the slightest changes in his environment despite the passage of time since he'd last had cause to fear them.  He moved his arm just enough to reveal one dark eye, the pupil swimming through a drowsy haze as it tried to focus on her.  

"Go back to sleep," she urged softly before he could speak.  "I'll come back tomorrow night."

"No.  Come here," he rasped in a sleep-roughened voice, shifting his hips to make room on the couch beside him.  She crawled into the narrow space he created between the back of the couch and his body, resting her head on one thin shoulder and sighing contentedly as he curled his left arm around her shoulders. 

She could feel the heat emanating from his Mark through her robes, a fire smoldering just beneath the surface of his skin, and it made her chest ache to sense the pain it was causing him.  And yet she could also tell that the pain was not the only thing on his mind just then.  He'd managed to compartmentalize it somehow, setting it aside as a matter to be dealt with later – by which time it would hopefully have gone away on its own.  No, something else was preeminent in his mind at that moment, something just as primitive as the pain but far more pleasant. 

Desire.  

With a start, she realized he'd been in the middle of an erotic dream when she had awakened him, and he was still turning it over in his head.  Her presence beside him had evidently given a corporeal dimension to his thoughts, because his feelings were suddenly blindingly apparent.  

He wanted her.  

And he intended to have her... but not until later.  Gentle waves of his need washed over her even as his brain once again relinquished itself to Hypnos, their peaks not yet high enough to do much more than wet her feet, but ripe with the unmistakable promise of swelling to the strength of a tsunami once he was fully awake.  

A flame was lighted deep in her own belly at the delicious thought of  being with him again.  Other than sharing a few kisses and holding hands during their exchanges, they had not had any meaningful physical contact since that night at The Three Broomsticks, and she still yearned to discover what true completion felt like.  Her body began to buzz with the anticipation, and she tentatively plucked at the buttons on his shirt front to see if she could hasten his return to consciousness.  But he simply coiled his fingers around hers to still them before drifting back to sleep.  

It would have to wait.  

She sighed again, this time in resignation.  He really did need his rest, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.  

No matter.  He would be awake soon enough, and this brief nap likely meant he would be able to stay alert that much longer when they were finished.  In the meantime, she burrowed in closer to his warmth and closed her eyes, unconsciously allowing herself to slip into the now familiar haze signaling the beginning of another trip into his past… 

****

_His hair was hanging down into her mouth again, Severus noted absently as he closed his eyes and positioned his pelvis between her wide-spread thighs.  _

_She hated that.  She had complained about it a few times before, but he had forgotten to tie it back into a ponytail earlier and there was nothing on Earth that would make him stop to do it now.  He tossed his head impatiently in a vain attempt to throw the errant locks over his shoulder as he tilted his hips forward, sheathing himself within her fully in one long, smooth stroke.  She positively purred as she arched up underneath him, her fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the skin of his back, which was now criss-crossed with the healed remnants of the thin, bloody ribbons she had cut there previously._

_Gods, this was the most amazing feeling in the world.  Alistair had been right – it was a hundred times better to feel the caress of slick muscle clenching and boiling around him than it was to toss off with his own hands.  Yes, that's it, think about Alistair__, he told himself wildly.  Think about Quidditch, think about *anything* that will help you make this last.__  After all, that was what she had taught him, wasn't it?  Don't surrender to the pleasure until they were both raw with it.  Screaming from it.   Drowning in it.  He had not quite perfected the technique, but he was a very eager pupil and he was sure he would become highly skilled at it with a little more practice.  _

_And bloody hell, he intended to practice as much as humanly possible.  _

_He moaned as she bucked beneath him, moving faster now, tantalizing him as much as he did her.   He was close, oh gods, *so*__ close to pouring out his love inside her… for that's what it was.  Love.  He had never known the feeling before, but this had to be what it felt like.  It was pure and holy and he wanted to possess her totally, feasting on the sweet nourishment that was her clutching embrace for the rest of his days.  _

_"Say my name, Severus," she gasped, spitting his hair out of her mouth as her own climax began to overtake her.  Her voice was nearly unintelligible as their bodies gyrated in an ever more rapid dance.  She always demanded this of him, reveling in the agonized groans he made as her name tripped out past his lust-cracked lips.  "Come with me, Severus, and say it.  I want to hear you say it…"_

****

From across the ocean, someone was calling her name, and something clamped down on her shoulder so hard that it hurt.  Hermione pulled back from the precipice of ultimate pleasure over which Severus had been about to leap and sped onward toward the sound of her name, instead.  Slowly, she disentangled herself from the exchange, and as she returned to full awareness she realized that Snape's body was rigid beside her, his arms constricted around her shoulders like two iron bands.  

"Hermione," he growled, his vibrations tinged with anger.  "Don't."

She shook the final vestiges of the fog from her mind before lifting her head to stare into his blazing black eyes.  "Don't what?" she asked, puzzled.  What had she done?

He shifted from beneath her and rolled off the couch onto his feet.  "Don't _ever try to enter my memories again without my consent," he hissed. _

She sat up quickly, blushing, as Snape stalked to the other side of the room, arms folded across his chest.  When he turned toward her again, his face was composed into dark, unreadable lines, his eyes shuttered and his lips compressed into a thin, bloodless slash.  He had never seemed so… closed… to her before, not even on his worst days as her teacher.  

"I – I'm sorry, Severus," she stuttered, shame and guilt welling up in her chest.  He was right – what she had done was inexcusable.  If she had attempted to take those kinds of liberties with his body, it would have been an offense worthy of Azkaban.  And surely, what she had done was worse.  She bowed her head and studied the interlaced fingers she cradled in her lap.  "I wasn't thinking."

"That much is obvious," he replied harshly.  "I shouldn't have to remind you that all of this" – he waved his hand in the air between them – " is difficult enough for me as it is. You've no right to push me any further any faster than I am prepared to go.  No right at all."

She stifled the urge to apologize again, knowing that saying it once already was both too much and not enough.  Instead, she rose to her feet and crossed to where he stood, pulling at his arms to extricate them from their position across his chest.  He resisted at first, studying her with hard, unblinking eyes, but when she tugged at him a second time he allowed her to unfold them and lay her head against his breastbone.  She was cautious now not to extend her reach into his mind again, but by the mere act of touching him she could sense his emotions.  He was angry and confused and deeply disappointed… but at his very core, the hunger for her still remained.

She raised her hand and stroked the bare patch of skin at the V of his shirt collar with her fingertips, following each feathery-light touch with gentle kiss.  He stiffened at the initial caresses, knowing full well that she was trying to distract him from his anger, and she felt a sudden frisson of fear that he would reject her and send her away from the dungeons entirely.  But soon enough, she could feel his negativity melting away under her ministrations until only the desire was left in its wake.  

It was not forgiveness.  It was reluctant acceptance built on a foundation of want.  But she knew she would have to settle for that, since she could do nothing to right the wrong.

She tipped her head up to offer him her mouth and he accepted it, pressing the full length of his lean body into hers as he wrapped his arms around her tightly.  She parted her lips and he slipped his tongue between them, exploring her mouth gently at first, then more urgently as his pulse quickened.  She felt the proof of his need growing insistent against the lower part of her belly as he pulled back to mark her throat with possessive nips.

"Severus, take me to bed," she whispered breathlessly, capturing his sensitive earlobe between her front teeth.

And he kissed her again, thoroughly and ferociously, before taking her hand and leading her toward his bed chamber.  

****

Later, much later, they lay together in the darkness, a collection of quivering limbs entangled in each other and in the sweat-soaked sheets.  Hermione was grateful that the room was black as the tomb, for she did not want him to see the look of disappointment painting her face.  

He had tried, he really had.  Unlike their first experience together, this night he had gone slowly, taking his time and delaying his own release as long as possible in an attempt to help her realize hers… but something held her back.  Precisely what that something was, she did not know, for he had done exquisite things to every inch of her body.  Things that made her breath catch in her throat and her nerve endings sizzle, things that made her toes curl and her spine arch.  He made her feel sensual and hedonistic and wanton and sinfully carnal, but in the end it was not enough.  

He worked his magic on her body for a long time, not allowing her to touch him in return, keeping his eyes on the prize at all times.  But even the most patient of men cannot ignore the siren song of want forever, and finally he could wait no longer.  He took her then, forcefully but not roughly, hissing his passion into the curve of her neck.  Another incredible, searing, _frustrating set of sensations followed for her as they moved together, joined as one being until he achieved what she had been denied.  _

And now that his breathing had finally resumed its normal rhythm, he rolled away from her and lay on his back on the other side of the bed.  The absence of physical contact was jarring to her after such a prolonged period of touching him, especially as she desperately wanted to know what he was feeling at that moment.  She couldn't help but wonder if he was mentally comparing her lack of responsiveness to that of the enthusiastic woman she had witnessed him with in his past.  

Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with curiosity about that mystery woman.  Who was she, anyway, that he had cared for her so much and made love to her so often?  The exchange had been an atypical one in that she did not have full knowledge of all that had transpired during that moment of Severus's past.  Perhaps it was because it had occurred while he was dreaming, but she wasn't sure.  In any case, given the means by which she had obtained the information, she knew it would be unwise to press him, but her need to know outstripped her better judgement.  

Not for the first time, either.  

"Severus?" she ventured hesitantly, "can I ask you a question?"

"If I said no, would that stop you from doing so?" came his weary reply. 

She smiled into the darkness.  He knew her too well. 

"Very well.  Ask."

"That woman you were with… was it Harry's mother?"

He snorted.  "No.  Lily Evans never looked at anyone else after she met Potter."  He positively spat when he said the name.  "We were friends, and that was all there was to it."

"Oh." 

They were both silent for a moment.  

"Who was she, then?" Hermione said finally, cringing when Snape sighed heavily at her persistence.  

"Must you know?"  His voice had a hard edge to it. 

She turned onto her side so she was facing him and reached out with one hand.  "Please…?" she whispered.  

He loosed an irritated growl.  "You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met…" he began, but then he seemed to think better of it and stopped in mid-sentence.  Instead, he clamped his fingers around the hand she proffered and pulled it roughly against his bare chest.   

"You want to know?" he sneered in a dangerously low tone.  "Then know."

And he turned his mind outwards, opening it for her inspection once again.

****

_"Say my name, Severus," she demanded urgently.  "Come with me, Severus, and say it.  I want to hear you say it…"_

_He hummed the first letter of her name into the air above her face, wanting to delay fulfilling her request until he was at the very moment of his climax.  A few more powerful lunges and suddenly they were both there… together… oh gods, oh gods, yesyesyesyesyes…!    _

_"Marinall…" he moaned, tasting the name that was sweeter on his lips than the finest chocolate in the world as he emptied himself deep within the grasping body of his stepsister. _


	12. Chapter 12

See disclaimers on chapter 9.

A/N: This entire chapter is another of Snape's flashbacks, so I have decided to forego the italics again. Any italics in this chapter indicate Snape's thoughts. Also, this chapter contains more references to underage sexual activity (at least in the area in which I live, though I believe Severus is of age for the UK). Please use your browser's back button if this is going to present a problem for you. 

Chapter 12

Avis had a weakness for Muggle music. For as long as Severus could remember, the WWN had been airing a one-hour program of Muggle standards every Sunday night, and she rarely failed to tune it in. When he was a child and Dunstan was still healthy, Severus would often creep down the stairs and sit in the shadows to watch his parents dance across the sitting room, their feelings for each other apparent in their eyes as they smiled at one another and sang along softly as they swayed. From time to time, when a song came on to which they did not know the words, they would kiss in the way they never kissed when they knew he was there. After the music ended and the news broadcast following it began, Severus would make his way back to his bed as quietly as possible, enjoying the funny, fluttery feeling that the sight of his parents' happiness left lingering in his chest.

Avis and Benjamin did not dance. In fact, Benjamin didn't like Muggle music, so Avis had to indulge her guilty pleasure in solitude, the volume turned down low enough that only she could hear it. When Severus was home from Hogwarts, he sometimes sat with his mother and thought back on the stolen kisses he had witnessed while the radio played tunes by Muggle singers with unlikely names like Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley and Rosemary Clooney. Neither of them spoke much on these occasions, but he had the feeling Avis was also recalling the times when both of them had felt safe and content because Dunstan held her in his arms. 

A particular favorite of hers was a song called "What A Difference A Day Makes." She often hummed it to herself when Benjamin wasn't around, and over the years Severus had learned the words, as well. 

_What a difference a day makes  
Twenty-four little hours  
Brought the sun and the flowers  
Where there used to be rain…  
_

Insipid lyrics, really. Utter rubbish. Yes, he had seen his share of differences made in a day – Dunstan's death, his mother's remarriage and the fight with Lucius that led to his self-imposed exile from the Slytherin common room among them – but they had all been negative. He had yet to see positive changes brought about by the events of a single day. 

And then, one warm, humid day in the summer after his fifth year at Hogwarts, his perceptions of Marinall made an abrupt about-face. At sunrise, she was nothing more to him than the barely tolerable spoiled brat he had known all his life. But by midday, she had suddenly become an incredibly desirable young woman, and by midnight, they were parting with a hurried embrace after sharing her bed for the first time. 

And suddenly, that ridiculous song seemed to make all the sense in the world. 

***

It was quite early when Severus unwarded one of the mansion's many side doors and slipped out onto the grounds – so early, in fact, that the house elves were the only other members of the household awake. That was fine with him. It meant he was able to enjoy a leisurely, hot breakfast and still get out of the house without having to talk to anyone else. 

A perfect way to start the day. 

Walking out into the muggy air was like being slammed headfirst into a clammy wall. The air was thick with banks of steam rising from the scores of puddles left scattered across the lawns in the wake of a severe thunderstorm the night before, and for a moment he considered abandoning his plans and sneaking back inside to the cooler environment of his bedroom. But something was calling him to the outdoors today, and so he set off, picking his way carefully through the puddles and licking a few stray toast crumbs from the tip of his thumb as he walked. 

His destination was a kidney-shaped, algae-covered pond hidden within a copse of trees about a kilometer north of the house. It had been one of his favorite places to play as a child, mostly because Dunstan used to Transfigure stones into fish and allow Severus to catch them with a stubby, wooden fishing pole. A massive boulder stood majestically on the bank of this pond, its ancient surface worn smooth enough to make it a comfortable place to sit and read. He had been making his way toward this outdoor sanctuary every morning for about a week now, a copy of the Hogwarts' sixth-year potions text tucked carefully under one arm. Professor Eldridge had given it to him at the end of last term, and he planned on committing as much of it to memory as possible before returning to school in September. 

Severus knew that many of his housemates had arranged to spend time at each others' homes during this, the summer holiday. It had been the sole topic of discussion (other than final exams) in the Slytherin common room for the last few weeks of the term. He, of course, had been excluded from all of their plans, and was spending the summer at home with his mother and stepfather. Thankfully, this was no longer the ordeal it had been in his early years at Hogwarts, as Benjamin simply didn't frighten him anymore. Now 16, Severus had nearly attained his full adult height, and he stood a good head-and-a-half taller than his stepfather. Though thin and gangly yet, he somehow still managed to present the appearance of a powerful man, and Benjamin became less and less inclined to engage him with violent means as both his body and his magical skills strengthened in tandem. 

He had no such hesitation about excoriating the boy with his sharp tongue, however. Very little about Severus seemed to miss Benjamin's keen eye, and even less was to the man's liking. He commented ruthlessly on almost everything his stepson did and said, sometimes with calculated cruelty, other times with deliberate casualness, but always with the underlying aim of reminding Severus precisely who was in control of the household. Just lately it had been on the tip of his tongue to tell Benjamin to go on and piss a circle around the house to mark it as his territory and be done with it once and for all. Or at least until Severus was of an age where he could legally claim it as his own, the way his father had intended. But he checked the urge and opted for avoiding Benjamin as much as possible instead, hoping to keep the peace Avis so desperately wanted and so seldom got. 

Benjamin had been even edgier than usual the night before, if such a thing were possible. Marinall was coming for her annual summer visit, and as usual, she was late in arriving. She had been expected sometime that morning, but there was still no sign of her at the conclusion of the dinner hour, and when the first flashes of lightning began forking across the dusky sky, Benjamin's face became sketched with lines of worry. 

"Where could she be?" he demanded gruffly of no one in particular. He had abandoned his pudding and customary after-dinner cigar in favor of standing by the window to keep watch for his daughter. The storm was gathering strength quickly, and Apparating was a tricky business even under the best of circumstances. "She should have been here hours ago!" 

"Perhaps she changed her plans again," Avis ventured mildly. "That's what happened a few years ago, remember?" 

Severus remembered. Fresh out of Beauxbatons, Marinall had decided to spend the summer in Paris with a few of her friends rather than burying herself at Snape Manor – a logical choice, as far as Severus was concerned. The problem was, she had forgotten to inform her father of the decision, with the result that Benjamin was frantic with worry for several days until he discovered her whereabouts. 

He hoped Marinall hadn't done the same thing again. A frantic Benjamin was a dangerous Benjamin. 

"No, that's not it," his stepfather replied, waving his hand in the air as if Avis's idea was a particularly pesky insect to be shooed away. "I just had an owl from her yesterday. She was planning to be here before lunch." 

Severus quietly exhaled his relief, then bolted the remainder of his pudding and excused himself from the table. He spent the rest of the night poring over his textbook and forgot all about Marinall's impending arrival. 

But he thought about it now as he shaded his eyes against the bright morning light. _I wonder if she ever made it?_ he thought, wiping away a bead of perspiration that was tickling its way down his temple. 

He was not particularly eager to see her. Ever since that Christmas when she had promised to talk to Benjamin on his behalf, she was nice enough to him on the infrequent occasions when they were alone together, but she was always cool and indifferent toward him whenever her father was present. _Trying to look good in front of "daddy," I suppose, _he thought scornfully. _Can't have Benjamin's precious little girl showing favor to the detested stepson, regardless of how she might feel about me personally. _

The hypocrisy was unsettling. 

He shrugged it off. He would know soon enough if she had finally arrived or not. No sense wasting time thinking about it now, when he had so much important reading to do. 

By the time he reached the pond, he was slick with sweat from head to foot. A few quick spells and his perch on the stone was both dry and adorned with comfortable cushions Transfigured from the same stones he used to catch as a child. He clambered up onto the stone and sat cross-legged with the book in his lap, then opened it with a contented sigh and applied himself to his task. 

He read for a long while, swatting absentmindedly every once in a while at the small flies that came to slake their thirst on the trickles of sweat pouring down his face and neck. He barely noticed them, so lost was he in the deliciously complex material detailed in the text. Next term was going to be very interesting. He couldn't wait to get his hands on some of the more exotic potions ingredients they would be working with. 

The sun rose higher in the sky as he read, and the day became beastly hot. His seat was shaded from the sun by the tall trees surrounding the pond, but as the sun approached its zenith, the heat began to numb his mind until he felt like his head was filled with huge wads of cotton where his brain used to be. When the words began blurring together on the page, he knew it was time for a rest. He tucked one of the cushions behind his head and shoulders and settled back against it. _Just for a minute,_ he promised himself. 

He jerked awake sometime later – _bloody hell, when had he fallen asleep?_ – to the feel of cool drops of water skittering across his face. He sat bolt upright and squinted in the sunlight, his sleep-addled brain trying to figure out why it was raining while the sun was still shining so brightly. He shook his head in confusion as a second round of raindrops spattered against his cheeks. 

Someone was laughing. When his head finally cleared, he looked up to find Marinall standing before him, clutching a small bouquet of heat-wilted wildflowers in her fist. Her other hand was dripping with the water she'd scooped up from the pond to splash on him. 

"Hullo, sleepyhead," she teased. "You ought to be careful. With skin as fair as yours, you'll get a nasty burn sleeping in the sun like that." 

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he replied peevishly. "It's just so bloody hot out here."

She laughed again and flicked her wet hand at him once more. This time, most of the drops landed on the open pages of his potions text.

"Stop it!" he shouted, swiping the offending drops away with the side of his hand. "You'll ruin my book!" 

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh. You're such a swot, Severus. Why are you studying in the middle of the summer, anyway?"

"I don't want to fall behind in school, that's why."

"How dreadfully dull. Everything here is so dreadfully dull. I've only been here a few hours, and I'm already so bored I could scream." She wiped her wet hand on the hem of her skirt and dropped down onto the stone beside him. 

"If you're so bored, why don't you get a job?" he inquired brusquely. 

She laughed merrily, as though he had just told the funniest joke she'd ever heard. "Why on earth would I want to do that?" she asked incredulously. "With my father's money behind me, I'll never have to work a day in my life."

Severus did not trust himself to reply. _Lucky cow_, he thought bitterly. He, meanwhile, would have to work his arse off once he finished school if he wanted to be able to maintain the house in the manner he felt it deserved. 

"So what is there to do for fun around here?" Marinall asked, as if she were visiting the house for the first time. 

Fun. It seemed like such an alien concept that he had to pause for a moment to consider his response. Before Dunstan's illness, he and his father had done things together that might be considered fun, traveling and playing chess, or sometimes working together in Dunstan's potions business. After his father's death, Severus had been too busy dodging Benjamin's curses and hiding in his room to have much time for fun, and his time at Hogwarts was devoted to studying. Truth to tell, the only real fun he had anymore was snarking at Lily Evans, and she was on the other side of the country right now, spending the summer with James Potter and Company. 

"Nothing, as usual," he replied finally. 

"I was afraid you were going to say that," she pouted, her tone childishly petulant. Honestly, if he didn't know she was nearly 21, he would never have been able to guess. She was the epitome of a 13 year old child trapped in an adult's body. "Well let's make our own fun, then. Come for a walk with me." 

She tugged on the corner of his book, trying to unseat it from his lap, but he yanked it back. "Leave me be, Marinall! I want to finish reading this." 

She pulled a face, and Severus could not help but wonder if she would still be after him to do something with her if Benjamin were around. It didn't take much thought to know the answer to _that_ question. 

"I know!" she exclaimed suddenly, gesturing to the pond. "Let's go for a swim!"

"Don't be daft," he sneered. "That water is filthy! Besides, we haven't any bathers." 

"We don't need any," she replied eagerly, tugging the tail of her blouse free of the waistband of her skirt. "We can go starkers." Before Severus could protest that he had no intention of doing any such thing, she had whipped the blouse off over her head in one fluid motion. 

Severus felt his jaw drop open in surprise. She wore nothing under the blouse, and her small, firm breasts were bared to his hungry gaze. Gods, they were perfect. Breathtakingly gentle contours and flawless peach-colored skin, capped with generous, pointed nipples that flushed and hardened as his eyes skimmed over them. The sunlight reflecting from the beads of perspiration coating each delectable curve seemed to make her glow, and even as he watched, several small drops melded together and began a slow roll into the furrow of her cleavage. He darted his tongue nervously between his teeth, tasting the tang of saline on his own upper lip, and for an instant he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to lean forward and lap up that salty trickle. 

Marinall smiled coyly at his slack-jawed expression, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that the idea of swimming was suddenly the furthest thing from her mind. "Have you ever been with a woman, Severus?" she asked softly, shimmying her shoulders a bit so her breasts jiggled provocatively. He shook his head slowly, unable to look away from the tantalizing rise and fall her movements created. A hot rush of blood between his thighs signaled his blossoming erection as the intent of her question became clear. 

She glanced down at his lap, and his face flushed hotly with the realization that she knew exactly what the twitching behind his zipper meant. She scooted closer to him until their legs were pressing against each other. "Would you like to touch me?" she whispered, reaching out to grasp his wrists and draw his hands forward to cup her breasts. "Go on," she urged, arching into his touch.

He kneaded her sun-warmed flesh tentatively, exhaling the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding as her taut nipples tickled the sensitive center of each of his palms. _So sweet, so firm, ahh, by the gods, she's so amazingly beautiful… I want to taste her… I want to kiss her… This is… this is…_

This is so bloody wrong! _What the fuck am I _doing?!

The absurdity of it all suddenly hit him like a hammerblow, and he snatched his hands away as though he had been scalded. "You're mad," he ground out through painfully clenched teeth, backing away. "Your father would have me drawn and quartered if he knew."

"You worry too much, Severus," she replied airily. "Daddy will never find out."

  
He rose unsteadily to his feet, unable to form a proper response. The imprint of her skin was still burning his palms as he scooped up his book and turned to head back toward the house. "Let me know if you change your mind!" she called playfully to his retreating back. 

The last thing he heard as he hurried away across the grounds was the echo of her laughter.

****

His knees were trembling so violently by the time he got back to the house, it was a miracle he was able to climb the stairs. Luckily, Avis and Benjamin were nowhere in evidence when he returned, so he was able to reach the privacy of his bedroom without anyone noticing the blatantly obvious bulge that strained at the front of his trousers.

Once inside, he threw the precious book carelessly on his desk and collapsed back on the bed, trying to will away the now painful hard-on he continued to sport. _I cannot – *will* not – get myself off while think of Marinall,_ he vowed, frantically reciting potions ingredients in his head to distract himself. _Fluxweed, bicorn horn, bouncing bulbs… gods, bouncing bulbs, indeed… alihotsy leaves, daisy root, essence of dragonfire… she has amazing tits… they fit so perfectly in my hands… no! stop it!… puffapods, billywig stings, rat spleen, tubeworm… I'd like to slip her *my* tubeworm… shit. Shitshitshit… this isn't working…oh fuck it… _

He surrendered to the inevitable and fumbled quickly at his zipper to take himself in hand. Sensory memories of the feel of Marinall's breasts and fantasies of being trapped between her legs danced through his head as he stroked himself madly, groaning with abandon until the terrible, wonderful pressure was finally relieved. 

For a few long moments, he basked in the afterglow, waiting for his heart rate to slow. Eventually, the higher parts of his brain kicked in again and he was able to analyze the situation rationally. He knew better than to flatter himself by thinking Marinall wanted him out of anything close to having real feelings for him, or even honest attraction. No. She was just bored and looking for a way to kill some time, and if it felt good in the process, so much the better. She had always been impulsive that way, acting first and thinking later, if at all. _No doubt she would have been Sorted into Gryffindor, if she had attended Hogwarts_, he thought wryly. 

And perhaps there was also something of the lure of the forbidden fruit to it for her. Benjamin would be absolutely livid if he knew. Severus had to admit that that aspect of it held some appeal to him, as well. How he would love to throw it in his stepfather's face that his sweet, innocent little girl had propositioned him. He would never dare to do such a thing, of course. Not if he wanted to live to see the age of 17. Still, it was a delicious idea to contemplate… 

Sometime later, his reverie was broken by a timid rapping at his door and the soft voice of one of the house elves informing him that dinner was served. For an instant, he seriously considered sending word that he would not be present at the table. The thought of facing Marinall again and acting as though nothing had happened was definitely off-putting. But before he could find his tongue, his stomach decided the matter for him by issuing an embarrassingly loud rumble, and he suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry. 

"I'll be along in a minute," he called through the door, and he heard the elf scurrying away down the corridor. 

As usual, the family did not speak during the meal, and for once Severus was glad of it. He could feel Marinall's gaze alight on him from time to time, but he refused to look up. No sense in giving her the satisfaction of knowing precisely what effect the day's events had had on him. 

The meal seemed to stretch on forever. When the house elves finally cleared the dishes away and the pudding was served, Benjamin and Marinall began chatting together. Avis tried engaging Severus in conversation, as well, but he responded in monosyllables only. He had no desire to talk to any of them right now. He just wanted to finish eating and get away from the table as quickly as possible. 

"So how's school, Severus?" Marinall said suddenly, folding her napkin daintily and placing it on the table beside her plate. Was he imagining it, or was there a decidedly flirtatious undertone to her words? She must be insane, tipping her hand in front of her father that way. 

"'S fine," he grunted. The question made him both suspicious and uncomfortable. 

"Good, good," she replied cheerfully. "You like your classes, then?"

Severus shrugged. _Shut up and leave me alone, Marinall, for the love of the gods._

"And are you seeing anyone there? Anyone special?"

"No," he said, clenching his teeth. 

Benjamin snorted derisively. "Who'd have him?" the man sneered. 

Avis and Severus both looked up at Benjamin in the same instant, Avis with a deep frown and Severus with a glare. _If only you knew!_ he thought wildly, his hands curling into tight fists under the table. It was on the tip of his tongue to retort hotly when he was cut off by a frantic, warning glance from Marinall. His face flushed red, he looked down at his plate, forcing another forkful of the pudding to his lips. It tasted like cork.

Thankfully, both of these reactions were lost on Benjamin, who was too busy watching the anger and hurt cross his wife's face. "Face it, Avis," he barked, unaccustomed to such a display of defiance on her part, "the boy is nothing to look at, and he's certainly got no personality to speak of." He smiled coldly. "I wouldn't be expecting any grandchildren, if I were you."

Severus pushed his chair back violently and stood up. "Fuck you," he hissed, and before anyone could say another word, he stormed out of the room. 

He would more than likely pay for that, he realized as he stomped up the steps, but he didn't care. Enough was enough. No one should have to take that kind of abuse in his own home. 

Benjamin and his fucking sarcastic remarks. He would show the bastard just who would have him. 

Ahh, the irony. The sweet, sweet irony. 

Later that night, he waited with his heart in his mouth until he heard Avis and Benjamin's bedroom door swing shut, knowing that once it had closed, it would not be opened again until the morning. 

It was time. 

He crept down the hallway and quietly knocked on Marinall's door. 

More A/N: I don't know who wrote the song "What A Difference A Day Makes" or what year it was copyrighted, but I do know I used the lyrics without permission.

I finally got my website up and running. You can find all of my HP fan fic there, including the NC-17 pieces I had to remove due to ff.net's new policy. Check it out and let me know what you think! http://www.100megsfree4.com/myfic/hpstuff/hptoc.html

And as always, if you liked this chapter (or even if you didn't), please let me know!


	13. Chapter 13

See disclaimers on chapter 9.

A/N: Again, this entire chapter is one of Snape's flashbacks. Any italics used denote Snape's thoughts. Also, more underage sexual activity so if that bothers you, you know what to do. 

Chapter 13

"Severus?"

__

He nudged her nipple with the point of his tongue, gently squeezing the soft breast below it so it strained upwards to meet his grasping lips. "That's the way," she cooed. Her abdominal muscles twitched as he traced a circle on her belly with his other hand. "Now, take it between your teeth…"

"Oh, Sev-er-us? Where are you?" This time, the voice called to him in singsong.

__

"A little more to the left. Ahh, yes, you've got it now. Oh! Not so hard." He eased back slightly, and she shivered. "Mmmm, that's better…" 

A sharp blow to his ankle snapped his mind back to the present, and he looked up into the smiling green eyes of Lily Evans. Blast. He'd been daydreaming again. In Potions class, of all places. 

"Welcome back," she teased. "Sorry to kick you, but it's almost time to add the porcupine quills." 

"Why didn't you just do it yourself?" he grumbled, scraping his knife along the cutting stone to form the quills he had been chopping into a neat pile. 

"Can't," she replied cheerfully. "I need both hands to keep stirring this." The hair removal potion simmering in their cauldron was growing thicker by the minute, and Severus could see it was becoming a struggle for her to keep the stirring rod moving through it. It was a good thing she'd gotten his attention back to the task at hand – the quills had to be added at precisely the right moment or the potion would be ruined. 

He scooped the pile of quills up onto his knife blade – they were too sharp to handle with his bare hands – and sprinkled them evenly across the surface of the potion. As Lily stirred them into the glutinous black morass, it gradually became less viscous and began to change color. When it emitted a thin trickle of sweet-smelling, purplish smoke, he extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron. The potion had to cool for 15 minutes before they could add the final ingredients and bottle it. 

Lily peered into the cauldron. "That's got it," she declared, removing the stirring rod and tapping it lightly on the lip of the cauldron to dislodge the thick drops clinging to its tip. 

Severus grunted in reply. It was becoming more and more difficult even to feign interest in the things that had once been so important to him. He positively _ached_ for Marinall. 

Lily eyed him curiously, her brows drawing inward to a deep furrow at the distant expression on his face. "Are you all right, Severus?" she asked quietly, setting the stirrer on the table in front of her. "You've been acting strangely for weeks now." 

So. She'd noticed. No one else had. Not a surprise, really, since she was the only one who paid him any heed. Lucius may have finished Hogwarts at the end of last term and mercifully moved on into the world, but his shadow still loomed large in Slytherin House and Severus continued to spend the majority of his time in solitude. Even Potter and Black had left him alone after the incident with the streeler venom, thanks no doubt to Lily's intervention on his behalf. Severus often wondered what she had said to them that day – whatever it was, they had obviously taken her words to heart for he'd suffered no further pranks at their hands since then. 

When he did not reply, she laid her fingers gently on the sleeve of his robe. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. 

__

Oh, now *there's* a fine idea, he thought bitterly. _I can just see your face when I tell you what's on my mind. _How could he possibly explain what was troubling him? _Well you see, Lily, I spent the better part of the summer fucking my stepsister, and now she's all I can think about_… 

She would probably be appalled. 

But he swallowed the scoff that threatened to tumble past his lips when she gently squeezed his arm. Severus studied her for a moment, surprised to see genuine concern for him reflected in her emerald eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Maybe it wasn't such an insane idea at that. After all, she was the only real friend he had, and he desperately wanted to talk to _someone_ about his relationship with Marinall, someone from whom there was no danger of the news getting back to Benjamin. And she obviously wanted to help. He was not one to give his trust easily, but she had already shown she was worthy of it. 

"Actually, I would like to talk…" he began, haltingly. 

But just then Professor Eldridge stepped up behind them. "Mr. Snape, do you have a question?" the instructor asked. His tone made it clear that he knew Severus and Lily were not discussing the day's assignment.

"No, sir," Severus mumbled as Lily snatched her hand away.

"Then I would suggest you pay attention to what you're doing," the professor intoned, sweeping by them to check on the progress of the team at the next workstation. 

"After class, OK?" Lily whispered after Eldridge had passed them by. "I'll wait for you in the corridor." 

He nodded, thinking that it was actually a relief that Eldridge had interrupted them. Now he had time to get his thoughts organized before they spoke. There was so much to be said… 

***

That first night with Marinall was by far the most bloody amazing experience of his life. 

Sweating and trembling with excitement – or was it fear? – as she closed and warded her bedroom door, his mind went blank for a moment and he was never sure which of them made the first move. But suddenly they were on her bed and she was shrugging her way out of her dressing gown, and then his hands and legs were snaking over her like tendrils of Devil's Snare as he tried to touch every part of her body at once. His fumbling caresses were clumsy and probably brought her more pain than pleasure, but he didn't care. How could he, with her warm, willing flesh pressed up so close against his own?

He dropped his head to claim her mouth, but just as their lips were about to meet she turned her face away. "No," she whispered. "Don't kiss me. That makes it too real." Too immersed in his own need, he didn't stop to ponder the incongruity of her rejecting such simple intimacy at the same moment that she offered up the rest of her body to him; instead, denied her mouth, his feverish lips sought her neck, her chest, her breasts while she arched and wriggled below him. 

Her small hands tugged open the front of his trousers, releasing his erection, and within moments he had plunged inside her. The sensation was indescribable. Heat. Moisture. Tightness. He could feel it throughout his entire body, acutely aware of every patch of his own skin, the straining of each individual muscle. Every inch of him pulsed and sang, a discordant symphony that sweetened into the richest of harmonies as he pulled back. 

The second thrust – unbelievably – felt even better. A fireball leapt to life at the base of his abdomen, flaring up from smoldering embers into the threat of an explosion within the blink of an eye. 

__

Slow down! the voice in his head screamed. _Savor it! It might be the only chance you get!_ But even as the detached part of his brain conceded that this was probably a pretty good idea, it became a moot point. With the third stroke, it was all over. His heart pounded and the blood roared in his ears as he rode the fiery spasms, hips still twitching spasmodically against the silky prison of her inner thighs. His climax seemed to last a very long time, much longer than the ones he brought about himself. When the last frisson of pleasure had been wrung from him, he collapsed atop her, gulping down great swallows of oxygen as though he hadn't breathed for hours. 

The entire experience was over within a few minutes, but to Severus, its impact was profound. He had finally – _finally_ – gotten the chance to do some of the things he had been fantasizing about for so long, and it was made that much more delicious by the fact that it was so forbidden, so risky. He was weak with gratification, yet he felt strong and adult and so very, very pleased with himself. 

He felt like a man. 

She squirmed impatiently beneath him, and in the aftermath of his release he realized he had nearly forgotten she was even there. "Get off me, Severus," she commanded, pushing on his shoulders. He rolled away and dropped onto his back beside her, a large, foolish smile plastered on his face. 

"You needn't look so pleased with yourself," she informed him coldly, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at him. "That was a disappointment, that was." 

And that was that. He could not have come crashing back down to earth more quickly if she had upended a pail of cold water over his head. 

"Yeah, well, first time and all," he mumbled in reply. To his horror, he could feel himself beginning to blush, a deep red glow that crawled from the base of his neck all the way up to his hairline. He suddenly felt like a boy again, and an inept one, at that. First time be damned, it rankled that she had found him less than satisfactory. He was used to being the best at everything to which he turned his hand.

"Well, you've had your fun," she sneered. "Now you can go." 

Her contemptuous tone was all too familiar, and it enraged him. How many times had Benjamin spoken to him in exactly that same manner? Or Black? Or Potter? Or Malfoy? He was sick and bloody tired of hearing it. He was a Snape, and a Slytherin, and he deserved respect, by the gods. And if he couldn't earn it, he was going to demand it. He _would_ be recognized for the powerful wizard he was and the powerful man he was becoming, and it was going to start _now._

"I'm not going anywhere," he hissed, pinning her to the bed beneath him once again. His body was taut with his anger, quivering like a bowstring about to snap, and she gasped in surprise and alarm. "I refuse to be a disappointment. Show me what to do." 

And she did.

***

She taught him well. He went to her nearly every night for the rest of the summer, and one by one she revealed the secrets to making her writhe and moan, guiding his education with a roll of her hips and a flick of her tongue, grading his efforts with the pitch and intensity of her soft, throaty exclamations. Precisely how she had come to be so experienced Severus did not know and did not care to contemplate, but he doubted that Professors McGonagall and Eldridge had ever employed methods even half as successful, despite their many years of combined experience as instructors.

And he learned. Oh, it wasn't exactly the type of material one might find on the approved syllabus for any of the required classes at Hogwarts, and he doubted very much whether his professors would be impressed with the gleeful effort he put into his studies; nevertheless, he soaked up the knowledge Marinall had to give with the same zeal he usually reserved for far more mundane academic pursuits. She had opened his eyes to an infinitely more exciting kind of magic, and he was determined to become as skillful with his newly acquired power as he was with both wand and cauldron.

She was a study in contrasts. Severus quickly discovered that she liked hearing him say her name at the moment of his climax, that she quivered when he nipped lightly at the sensitive spot on the base of her throat, and that she would turn her head away every time he tried to kiss her, but aside from these few constants, she was different every time. One night she might want him to go slowly, taking vast amounts of time to let the tension build so gradually that he wanted to scream with the anticipation of thrusting inside her. The next night she would demand that he fuck her harder, faster, throwing them both over the top as quickly as he could. She was always seeking out new sensations, trying new things and different positions, and he spent the daylight hours thinking of imaginative ways to drive her to new heights. He never knew from night to night whether he would be in her bedroom for 15 minutes or four hours, and it was exciting and mind-blowing and so, so _dangerous_. 

They were both keenly aware of the terrible chances they were taking. By unspoken agreement they never discussed it, but their defensive actions said more on the subject than mere words ever could. They never failed to ward the door and cast silencing spells before they began, and he watched carefully as she dosed herself with the necessary contraceptive potions every night. She continued to be aloof and indifferent towards him whenever her father was present, but it no longer annoyed him – to the contrary, he took a perverse pleasure in it, knowing how she would cry out behind closed doors later and savoring the memory of the role Benjamin had played in bringing them together in the first place. For his part, he barely spoke at all when the family was together. In fact, he did not even allow himself to look at her on these occasions for fear that his lust would be broadcast in his eyes. 

Through their combined efforts, they somehow managed to keep Benjamin blissfully ignorant of their late night activities – a miracle indeed, given the fact that the man was always looking at Severus for something to be critical about. Severus knew that he would have heard from his stepfather had he any inkling that something might be going on between the two of them, but Benjamin never even hinted that this was the case.

And so Severus's lessons continued. He was silently thankful that he had completed all of his holiday assignments early, as he barely cracked a book for the rest of the summer. Who could focus on Potions or History of Magic when such intense sensation awaited him just a few doors away?

As the days slipped by, Severus noticed his feelings for Marinall were beginning to change. When the affair started, it was all about satisfying his curiosity and exacting his vengeance on his stepfather, and when it was continued it became an issue of commanding the respect he considered his due. But as the summer drew to a close, his emotions seemed to mellow into something entirely different. It was a strange, heady feeling, this quickening of his pulse, the moistening of his palms, the sheer _want_ he felt whenever she was nearby. It was completely unfamiliar to him, and with no other frame of reference to go by he chose to label it "love." He said nothing to her about it, knowing without a doubt that that the feeling was unrequited… still, he couldn't stop himself from hoping that he meant _something_ to her, something more than simply being a means of obtaining sexual gratification.

That fantasy saw the cold light of day the night before he was due to return to Hogwarts. He had gone to her room, as usual, to make love to her one last time. It was still as thrilling as it had been the first time, perhaps even more so now that he was able to make it last and bring both of them to completion. When they were through, he settled back on the bed beside her to catch his breath, as he always did, and it was bittersweet to realize that these were the last few minutes he would have to spend with her for a long time. 

"I'll write to you when I get back to school," he said quietly.

"Don't," she replied sternly. "I won't write back. This was a lark, Severus, nothing more. Don't go making it into something it isn't." 

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the impact of her words wash over him. Then he got up and stepped into his clothes, leaving the room without looking back. 

****

The bell rang. 

Shit. He still didn't know what he was going to say to Lily. 

They gathered up their things and left the classroom together. That was a first. She usually walked with Potter and his little band of miscreant followers, but today she didn't even glance in their direction. 

When they had walked about halfway to the steps leading up to the ground floor, Lily stopped and turned toward him. "Now, Severus, what's going on?" That gentle, compassionate look was back on her face again, and suddenly the words came tumbling from his lips. 

"Lily," he said earnestly, "I think I'm in love." She gasped, hand flying to cover her mouth, and he couldn't help but smile. Apparently, whatever she had been expecting him to say, that definitely wasn't it. "Yes, you heard right, in love. With –"

But he never got the chance to finish his sentence. "Oh, Severus!" she exclaimed. "I'm flattered, honestly I am, but you know I'm with James…" She gestured down the hallway to where Potter, Black and Pettigrew were quickly approaching. Their faces were set in hard lines, and Severus felt his stomach lurch. 

"No, no, you don't understand," he said, flustered by her egregious misinterpretation of his news. "I didn't mean –" 

"Oh, but I do understand," she insisted as her face flushed beet red. "I just can't…."

"Problem here, Lils?" Potter said loudly, as he and Black stepped up beside her. Severus didn't like the look in his eyes. 

"No, Jims," she replied quickly. "No problem." 

But Potter was glaring at Severus. "Did I just hear you telling my girlfriend you're in love with her, Snape?" he demanded. Shoulder to shoulder, the duo took a step forward, crowding Severus and forcing him to take a step backwards. 

Before he could say anything in his own defense, both Potter and Black had dropped their books onto the flagstones and rushed at him, each one grabbing a fistful of his robes and pinning his shoulders against the wall. 

"Did I?!" Potter barked, his face so close to Severus's that spittle hit his cheeks when Potter spoke. Black was uncharacteristically silent, but his teeth were bared like some malevolent dog's and the hostility radiated off him in waves.

"Let go of me, you idiots," Severus snarled. Lily tugged urgently at the sleeve of Potter's robe, repeating Severus's entreaty, but Potter shrugged her off. 

"I ought to pound you into a bloody pulp," he hissed.

"Go on, then," Severus snapped, dark eyes flashing. "Kick my bloody arse. It will be worth it to see the two of you expelled from Hogwarts for good and all."

For a long moment, the three boys stood glowering at one another. Severus braced himself for the blows he was sure to come. It was a sickeningly familiar scene to him.

But a moment later, Potter's grip on his robes eased up a bit. "You're not worth it," he spat, giving Severus one final shove so that his shoulder glanced hurtfully off a stone jutting unevenly out of the wall. "Now you listen to me, Snape," he said, jabbing the point of his index finger into Severus's chest. "You leave Lily alone. Don't look at her, don't speak to her, and don't you _ever _touch her. You understand that?" 

Without waiting for a reply, he and Black stepped back, their eyes still glowing dangerously. They gathered up their books and Potter put one proprietary arm around Lily's waist as they marched off down the hallway. Pettigrew scurried along behind them; true to form, he had watched the entire confrontation with wide, frightened eyes, too cowardly to get involved himself. 

After dinner that evening, Severus stalked through the library on the way to his customary study table, still fuming about the afternoon's events. He couldn't really blame Lily for jumping to such a conclusion, he'd decided – after all, she had to know he was a virtual pariah and she was the only girl who ever really spoke to him. But Potter and Black… no, there was no excusing what they had done, the bloody bastards. He loathed them. And he was angry with himself, as well, for allowing the two of them to take him by surprise like that. He hadn't even had time to draw his wand before they had him up against the wall. 

He slumped down in his chair and opened up his Charms textbook, glaring down at it so intensely it was a wonder it didn't catch fire. The words blurred together in an incomprehensible jumble as he relived the moment in his mind again and again, thinking of the things he should have said, creating a grimly satisfying variety of alternate endings that usually had Potter and Black flat on their arses on the floor. 

By the time he looked up again, the sun was setting and the sky outside the window he sat beside was streaked with red clouds. He sighed and sat back in his chair, clenching and unclenching his teeth in an effort to relieve some of the tension in his jaw. Then something outside caught his attention and he sat forward again quickly, leaning toward the window and peering out intently. Two figures were moving across the grounds in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. One was clad in a long white dress with a white hat perched on its head – _Madame Pomfrey_, Severus realized. The other was obviously a student; the person was a good deal shorter than the medi-witch, slight of build with a mane of shoulder-length light brown hair… was it Lupin? Severus leaned forward a bit more and squinted. Yes, it was definitely Lupin. He could tell by the way the boy walked. 

__

How odd. Why was Madame Pomfrey leading Lupin across the grounds? The only thing out in that direction was the Whomping Willow, and no one ever dared to approach it. Not unless they had a death wish. The tree had caused several severe injuries during his first year – the year it had been planted – and now the entire student body knew well enough to give it a wide berth. 

The hairs on the back of Severus's neck began to prickle. Something strange was going on, he was sure of it. And if Lupin was involved, surely Potter and Black had to be right in the middle of it, as well. He filed the information away, determined to investigate it further when the opportunity presented itself. Perhaps this would provide the ammunition he needed to get the Feckless Four thrown out of Hogwarts at last.

He craned his neck to keep watching them as far as he could, but soon enough Lupin and Madame Pomfrey disappeared from view. He sat motionless for a moment, churning through the possible ramifications of this new discovery in his mind, then sighed once again and turned his attention back to his book. 

****

"Did you miss me, Severus?" Marinall asked playfully, her voice dipping into the intimacy range. 

"Gods, yes." 

It was Boxing Day, and Marinall had just arrived that afternoon for her Christmas visit – two days late, as it turned out. Her absence from the household for the Christmas festivities had a greater impact than she realized, as both Benjamin and Severus had their own reasons for being eager to see her. 

After the confrontation with Potter and Black, Hogwarts became an even lonelier place, if such a thing were possible. Severus and Lily remained Potions partners, but the lighthearted exchange of insults that passed for their conversations was gone. She spoke to him as little as possible, only about their assignments and with a strained tone to her voice that set his teeth on edge. And of course, Potter kept an eagle eye on them during every class. Severus didn't realize how much he had enjoyed their easy bantering until it was gone. He had to content himself with his books and his thoughts of Marinall, counting the days until he could go home for Christmas and see her again. _There's a switch_, he thought ironically. _Counting the days until I can go _home_!_

And then Marinall didn't arrive when she was expected, and he thought he would lose his mind. What if she didn't show up at all? He didn't know how he would stand it if he couldn't see her again until next summer. 

When she finally appeared, Benjamin fawned over her with his customary displays of paternal affection, showering her with Christmas gifts and not leaving her side for the whole of the afternoon. He wanted to spend the evening with his daughter, as well, but he and Avis were expected at the Malfoys for dinner and they both knew they could not disappoint Diablo. 

They would be gone for hours. 

Severus remained closeted in his room until he heard Avis calling up the steps that they were leaving. He positively itched with the anticipation of being with Marinall again, but he had wisely decided it would be best not to go anywhere near her until Benjamin was safely out of the house. He peered out the window just in time to see his mother and stepfather Apparate away. 

It was time. 

One glance through the open door of her bedroom revealed she was not there. So he prowled around the house looking for her, muscles twitching nervously with expectation. Finally he found her curled up in front of the fire in the sitting room, thumbing through one of Avis's back copies of _Witch's Weekly._

Unexpectedly, the sight of her made him hesitate. He had so longed to see her again, to be with her again, but as he gazed at her from the doorway he found himself feeling rather unsure of himself. What if she didn't want him? She'd made it quite clear at the end of the summer that their relationship meant nothing to her. Suppose she turned him away?

She looked up then and saw him there, and a slow smile curled her lips as she set the magazine aside. "I thought they'd never leave, how about you?" 

His self-confidence came flooding back, and he crossed the room to where she sat in a three hurried strides. He didn't speak other than to groan an answer to her question about missing her, choosing to use his mouth for more satisfying pursuits, instead. There. Kissing the sweet spot at the base of her throat still made her shiver, still earned him the feel of her fingers carding through his long, black hair. A flick of a few buttons and his lips were circling a rapidly stiffening nipple. 

"Let's go up to my bed," she gasped, clearly as aroused as he. The musky scent of her was already sharp in the air.

But his blissfully painful erection protested loudly at the idea of walking all that way, up all those stairs. "No. Here," he whispered against her breast. "I can't wait." 

They didn't even bother to undress. Severus pulled the blouse from her shoulders so it hung slackly around her elbows, nuzzling her breasts urgently as he hiked the skirt up around her hips. Then her knickers were gone and he was pinching the wet, sensitive spot at the juncture of her thighs in precisely the manner she liked best. _Just like riding a broomstick,_ he thought irreverently as she squealed her delight. _Once you learn how, you never forget._

Her climax was high and sharp, and her internal muscles were still contracting when he jabbed his way inside her. Dear gods, it was everything he remembered, and more. He kept still for a few moments, savoring it, trying to calm himself enough to be able to enjoy it fully. When he began to move, the sensation was so intense he had to close his eyes and just _live_ it. Nothing else mattered but this joining of the flesh, this heart-stopping, mind-wrenching affirmation of _life._

Each thrust forced another guttural groan from each of them. It was so good… too good… he couldn't hold back much longer… 

Suddenly, she began struggling frantically beneath him, clawing at his chest and trying desperately to push him away. "No!" she wailed and then began to sob. "Daddy! Help me!"

Suddenly, Severus became aware of the fact that they were no longer alone in the room. He stopped grinding his hips against her long enough to crane his head around and look over his shoulder. Avis stood in the doorway, her mouth hanging open and her features twisted into an expression of shock and fear. 

And there, standing beside her, his face purpling with rage, was Benjamin.

More A/N: This cliffhanger is dedicated to Dorie, to whom I have been promising it for quite a while now. I hope it was worth the wait!

And… I hate to do this to you all, but it looks like it's going to be a while before I will be able update again. I have drawn a challenge in the Dawn to Dusk Snape/Harry slash festival, and that story is due by the end of November. I hope to get back to this piece in short order, but the story I have outlined for DtD is rather involved and as you can probably tell from the length of time it takes to update The Graduate, I need a while to get things written to my satisfaction. 

I *promise* I will be getting back to this piece no later than the end of November. I am *not* abandoning it. In the meantime, feel free to leave reviews or email me (my email address is in my author profile), because the feedback will go a long way toward keeping me motivated. Thanks SO much to all of you who have followed along this far. 

And finally, if you have not done so already, please go back and read the new author's notes at the bottom of chapter 3. I've had a few emails and reviews expressing the completely legitimate concern that butter is not to be used on burns, and the new author's note addresses the reason why I included that scenario in this story. Thanks!


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